


Above- and Well Beyond

by arlenejp



Series: Above-And Well Beyond [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, M/M, Original Character(s), Physical Abuse, Rape, Rimming, Sex Parties, Verbal Abuse, characters age, coming, sucking cock, water sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-13 03:30:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 42
Words: 50,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15355257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: Beginning in his teens Sherlock is a person under stress. He collects wonderful friends and lovers.A Russian dancer, male, plays a big part in his life.





	1. The First Party

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Why Are You Here, Leonid?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15654723) by [arlenejp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp). 



> There is physical and verbal abuse and some heavy sex. I will try to warn you which chapter as we get to it. A death, an injury by a gun and one heck of a lovely seduction scene.  
> It does have a happy ending.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is so special about the party that Sherlock is invited to?

Why is my older brother inviting me to one of his clubs? A world of politicians, wealthy aristocrats, the cream at the top of Britains' society.

* * *

We've never socialized before! Mycroft, being seven years older than me would not have wanted me to be a part of his social circle.  


I lived in his house this past year, in reality, confined to it.  
'Getting over my drug addiction.' What he says is his reasoning for the constraints. And he's right!

* * *

I haven't been able to leave the house without his approval. I have no friends; my days are spent reading and teaching myself to play the piano and violin.

* * *

It all started in my senior year in university. My drug habit. And I had a good reason.

Drugs being uppermost in my mind and my body, the time I spent in classes, were hazy.  
I managed to squeak by, and now in the year eighteen hundred ninety-five, I'm finally on my own, sort of.

* * *

The small income I receive allows me to rent a flat still in a fashionable part of London.  
Up the stairs to a sitting room, two bedrooms, kitchen and one bathroom. Furnishing it sparingly, I do need shelf space for my vast collection of history and technical science books.  
I employ a neighbor's son to drive my carriage, which resides at their house along with two of my horses.

* * *

He still controls my finances for another three years and pleasing him, although distasteful is one way to keep him at bay.

* * *

Mycroft never does anything without reason. I wait to see what this private gathering is about that he deemed it worthy to parade me to his peers.

* * *

The buttons on my shirt remain undone, my fingers have lost their agility, so nervous about this evening outing.  
Sighing heavily, I sit, try to compose myself.

* * *

Once more at the mirror, closing my white shirt, plastering on a phony smile at the reflection staring at me. Tall, slender and pale. The sun is not my favorite companion.  
My hair is dark, almost black. Shoulder-length to emphasize the curls, natural, escaping onto my forehead.  
Dear brother doesn't like it. Childish, he calls it.

* * *

My tight light brown trousers fit perfectly around my legs and my rear.  
A satin yellow and green flowered vest, the yellow ascot, which my fingers tie in the proper manner.  
The plaid dark and light green coat, tan leather gloves, gold pocket watch, black velvet top hat round out my costume for the night.

* * *

Mycroft's coach is waiting outside, and, putting on my gloves and hat I dilly dally. Stepping into his carriage, and taking the seat across from him, his mouth crinkling into almost non-existent lips,"Can't you ever be on time?"  
Such fun in provoking him!

* * *

He's his usual impeccable self.  
His garments speak money, from his carefully folded silk monogrammed handkerchief to the hand-made shoes.

* * *

          "At the Club," handing me a flowered fan, and a folded brown paper, "each man will have similar fans and this instruction paper. Each movement of the fan, as you see written there, will denote a different sexual implication. You can be as creative as you wish. Or, you do not have to partake. I will, unfortunately, be tied up most of the time with a certain professor."

My stomach rolls. Mycroft cannot mean for me to join this--affair!

          "Oh, yes, there are private rooms upstairs, and I will be ensconced in one. Liquid refreshments are on my tab. Enjoy yourself in whatever capacity you wish."

His eyebrows curve up, amusement giving way to his usual stoic expression.

"This has all the indications of a sex club, Mycroft,"scanning the paper, my stomach clenching in fear.  
"Very astute of you, brother mine. If you have any inclination to participate in the lifestyle, which I suspect you do, these clubs are the proper place."

His legs crossed, he picks up his umbrella and knocks my knee gently.

" In this day and age, we have to be--,"  
"We?" my fingers gesturing back and forth between us.  
"Don't look so taken aback. I prefer the male body over the female. And as for you! I had to squelch that report from the Mathematics professor about your loitering in the men's bathroom, your trousers--"  
"That was different, as I've said more than once to you. I loved him," forcing myself to stay quiet.  
He scoffs,"Humph; he was a neer do well. His family-"  
My head shoots up, angry," Mycroft I did not care one whit about his social background. We loved one another. You--" nothing I would say would alter what happened. He never lets me forget the incident and--the man.

"Yes, yes. Now, to revert to our original conversation," Mycroft's legs uncrossing, he smooths out his grey trousers.

* * *

"These clubs are exclusive to certain men, and any thought of blackmail is out of the question. We can meet, enjoy in complete secrecy. Do you understand now?"  
"Why this? You know I don't--"  
"Don't be foolish. I have my reasons."  
"Why not a dinner, to which you invite your hoi-polloi friends."

Refusing to answer me, I lean against the window, seeing nothing but a dream once had and lost.

* * *

An overhead awning, a red carpet that shows wear, a bronze plaque stating 'Diogenes Club.'  
Inside dark wood walls, greenery everywhere, somber pictures everywhere.

* * *

A long hall that ends at double doors, opening into a sitting room the size of which my flat would sit comfortably.

* * *

The dullness of the room with its brown leather sofas and chairs is only brightened by the many candelabras and a fire glowing in the bricked fireplace.  
There's a grand piano situated on the far left with a flowered throw carelessly positioned on the open top.  
A wall lined with shelves bottles of liquor, in front of a large wood bar.  
Curtains over the windows blank out the evening moon. Candles and gaslight play together to give off a soft glow.

* * *

Distributed across the expanse of this room are eight men, each involved in conversations, fans in hand, closed at the moment. The men range from my age into their sixties.

* * *

Directly behind Mycroft and I, three more men enter the room.  
Stepping aside one gentleman, in his fifties, steps to the center and in a voice loud enough for all to hear, "Gentlemen, the evenings' entertainment can commence. Good behavior is paramount. Remember, upstairs there are bedrooms. Tags are on the door handles. Turning them to read 'do not enter' ensures your complete and utter privacy. Quiet must prevail. We must all leave by midnight. Enjoy yourselves." 

* * *

The two other men step around and head to the bar.

The elderly gentleman has a grey beard, sideburns, large gold rings adorning his fingers. He has a possessive grip around the younger man's waist.  
Unmistakenly his plaything.  
The young man's blue eyes nervously move around, seeing but not seeing.  
Doesn't want to be here but has no choice.

* * *

Here's a challenge! Worthy of me to take on! Can I entice the young man away for a short time? I stand up and wander slowly over to them.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. A pleasure to meet you-," my hand out to the bearded senior.  
"Ah," the elder man says, "I'm here to speak with your brother," and his eyes travel past me," where is he? I'm assuming he's here with you?"  
" Never mind, there he is," his hand waving to Mycroft," I see him. Excuse me while I tend to some business. I will be returning shortly. Introduce yourselves, have a drink on me" waving us both off, strolling to meet Mycroft.

* * *

The only man of interest in this wasted desert of humanity is right before me. Carrying my open fan in the left hand (come and talk to me).

"And your name is?" intelligence in those bright blue eyes that twinkle in amusement.

Twirling the fan in his left hand, keeping it closed, " Doctor Watson here. We don't need to use these stupid fans between us. Don't like this idea anyway," lightly swatting mine away, "would you like to sit and have a drink with me?"  
Nodding my assent, "your drink of pleasure?"  
"Whiskey, please." 

There are two cushioned chairs at the opposite corner from the bar, and that's where we find ourselves.

Doctor Watson places himself in a sideways position, his legs stretched out, at attention for when the professor returns, I'm assuming.

* * *

"Before you jump to conclusions, which everyone does, I'm not the professors' sex toy. He likes everyone to assume that. An ego thing, you know. Tell me Mister Holmes, I've heard much talk of your brother, but I don't remember hearing much about you. Where you've been keeping yourself?"

"I'm just out of university, deducing you are also. My family is pushing for me to join them in politics or law, but I despise both of those occupations. And you? A doctor, you either are or studying to become one."  
His face lights up," Are. Yes, very interested in general medicine. My desire to assist the poor, the needy. At the moment I am looking for employment at Barts Hospital. I've applied and eagerly waiting for an answer."  
"This," his head indicating the varying stages of undress we are witnessing," is very uncomfortable for me. I am here to keep my 'employer' company. That's all."  
"Your employer seemed interested in my brother." Both of the men are not in sight. I suppose in a bedroom upstairs.

* * *

"I do enjoy a game of cards, a go at a pub or, sitting with a cup of tea, reading," his fingers playing with his glass," but he's, how to give voice to it, a bit of a controlling person."  
"I know of exactly what you speak. My sibling is that way. It is not easy to step out of his shadow. His ever watchful eye." 

Of course, I don't go into the real reasons why Mycroft is so strict with me.

"Doctor Watson, I have never had an interest in sports, whether imbibing or watching. I'm not much interested in people. Find them irritating and stupid."  
A deep chuckle from him and I'm forced to grin along with him.

"Well, Mister Holmes, you approached me. What did you find to heighten your interest in me if people are stupid as you say?" his smile so genuine.  
" A curiosity," stopping to dissect my reasoning," your awareness of life," cocking my head to one side.

Not sure whether to say it out loud. The attraction is new to me. I've not been curious about another male since--.

* * *

Doctor Watson reaches into his pocket and lays his calling card on the table watching me as I pick it up, turning it over and over.

"I'd love to discuss our current problems in more detail. Every Tuesday evening, if you wish, at the Hound Pub. My employer goes to his club on Tuesdays, and that allows me some leeway."

* * *

"It's possible we may be here longer than a few more minutes. I'd like not to keep sitting here. What do you suggest?"  
" It might be more enjoyable if we took a seat out in the hall, don't you think?" inclining his head in that direction.  
"I heartily agree," pushing my chair aside to show my eagerness to be gone from this room.

Before heading out the door, Doctor Watson informs the director of this evenings function where we will be sitting, which turns out to be comfortable bench covered in a plum red cushion.

* * *

We don't have too long to talk when Mycroft arrives back with the professor. Doctor Watson stands, takes the older man's arm, and over his shoulder, John Watson winks at me.

"Good looking chap that Doctor Watson. Be careful of his professor. He's not one to trifle with lightly. Very possessive."  
"Oh, are you trifling with him? Did you--?"  
"Mister Holmes Junior, it is not your duty to watch over me. Or to meddle in my affairs."  
'But you so easily do that with me, all the time' thinking it, keeping my mouth tightly shut.

* * *

"I'm deeply disappointed. There were others you could have met. More important than the doctor," taking my elbow.  
"Oh, and have sex with them?"  
"Don't be such a prig. Some of those men are very influential in business and government. Even shaking hands would have been a benefit to you," nodding to a man by the door.

"I'll give the club your name, and you can visit when you please without me."

* * *

In the carriage, I say nothing but my idea is never to visit that club again.

* * *

Through one of my university friends, I have found employment in the National Security Department. I command a small group of special ops agents in London who work with Scotland Yard and the London police. My new career has my evenings located at the police station learning, absorbing as much as I can.

I'm very interested in this career and purchase books on crime solving which go into my library.

* * *

I have no time to continue my association with Doctor John Watson.

* * *


	2. The Second Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets another man who will influence his future. He's kind, gentle and older.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is sex in this chapter. I don't think it's too graphic.

The last time I saw my brother was at that fan party three weeks ago.

* * *

And now another message from him. 

* * *

Tearing open the envelope, pulling out a multitude of papers I begin to read--.  
_Sherlock, there is an invitation to another party. I will be there. The Earl is an important personage. Do not say no. You will have to take your carriage. MH_

* * *

Separating the papers, I see the gold embossed stamped invitation to a soiree at the Earl of Stamford's mansion.  
Never having met this Earl of Stamford I understand this is another way of Mycroft introducing me into society.  
His society.

* * *

The rest of the package contains an ivory fan, with inlaid pearl flowers and the obligatory paper instructions.  
It's what's written that stops me short. It's way, way more suggestive, describing in detail actions that I could never see myself doing in public.

* * *

My first reaction is to rip it up and decline. I'm furious. Snapping the fan open and close I throw it on the floor.

Why is Mycroft pulling me along with him on this road? Is this punishment for my indiscretion? From so many years ago? Still and yet!

I know I have no choice but to go. He'll drag me out of the house, kicking and screaming.

Maybe John Watson will be one of the invitees.  
If the professor is in attendance, then evidently Doctor Watson would be trailing along. Yes, yes, I will go, and a message goes out to the Earl accepting the invitation.

* * *

My gray trousers, a bright red vest, white shirt, red tie and black coat with red braided trim.  
My sack coat, all the rage now, is cut different from the standard.  
It flares out slightly at the waist and has a red buttonhole on the lapel.  
I give off the aurora of a more dashing type of figure, at least that's what I'm trying to convey.  
Deep inside I'm edgy, stomach roiling.

* * *

The party is in a sprawling three-story house, old but well maintained. 

I step into the oval entranceway, being led into a parlor with lots of seating. Cushioned chairs, settees, large sofas. It feels cluttered, overdone.  
The room is bright with candles and a vast double fireplace whose flames lick high.  
The shadows cast leave places for quiet and discreet rendezvous spots.

* * *

Small platters of food and drink are being brought around by servants.

* * *

I count sixteen participants, all ages, all girths and that number includes myself.

* * *

Not sure I should move further into the room, I see Mycroft the same time he spies me. We both move towards each other.  
He has a drink and hands it out for me to take. I decline.

"I do not see Doctor Watson or his--"  
Mycroft's hand is up, silencing me.

"Doctor Watson prefers not to attend these parties, as he has already told you. He and the professor are out of town."  
I'm disappointed and frustrated at the same time. Hoping that Doctor Watson would be my companion for the evening.

* * *

Mycroft looks over his shoulder, sees a young man beckoning to him, curving a finger, a suggestive smile.  
"Excuse me, Sherlock, someone waiting for me," and rushes off with fan open. ( I like what I see).  
Mycroft's fan is closed facing upwards (your body is tempting me).  
The man laughs, waving his fan while also holding it up ( kiss me open-mouthed)  
Mycroft eagerly accepts the offer.

"Ach," turning away from my brother's display, taking a gulp of air and accepting a drink from a servant.

* * *

Around the room, men are already indulging in various sex acts.  
I'm trying to distance myself from this display. To find someplace my eyes can light on without seeing naked or partially naked men.  
Over in the corner draped over a piano I catch a glimpse of my brother, trousers around his knees.  
Disgusted, I stumble to the door intending to leave, when a servant steps up, his hand carefully taking my elbow, and says in a low voice, "Sir, I see your discomfort. Please follow me."

With a sigh of relief, I let him lead me to a closed door which he proceeds to open, and I step inside.  
Curious as to this turn of events.

* * *

What a beautiful sitting room!   
The walls are covered in a red and gold velvet paper and compared to the parlor this room is almost devoid of furniture. A lit fireplace heats the room  
Each table has a vase filled with a variety of brightly colored flowers.  
Besides the cheeriness, the place has a lovely aroma.

* * *

A slim elegantly dressed gray-haired man, standing sideways to me, is pouring two glasses of liquor, and he faces me, holding out one for me to take.

"A gentleman who is uneasy with my evening entertainment, I see! Come, you are not the first, have a drink we can sit and converse."

* * *

Smiling as I take the proffered drink, he gestures, "Mister younger Holmes, have a seat. As you have guessed, I am the Earl of Stamford, Frederick to my friends. And, as you're Mycroft's brother consider us friends,"stretching his long legs out sitting across from me.

"You are not the first to walk out of that room and to this place during one of these entertainments."

* * *

I surmise he's in his fifties, gray sideburns lining his cheeks, with an abundance of hair still left on his head.  
A curl graces his forehead, giving him a bon vivant air.  
As tall as I am and a face showing the just beginning signs of wrinkles.  
The casualness that comes with old wealth surrounds his body. Altogether pleasing.

"I'm sorry, Mycroft did not warn me of this-this very open carnal display."  
"But, "the Earl states raising his eyebrows,"you did see the fans usage didn't you? What did you expect?"  
"My brother insisted I come. The last party I attended most men went to private rooms in the house. The openness here has me cringing. I can't do this.  
" I understand. Believe me. That is why my servants are required to bring gentlemen in here if they show any sign of discomfort."  
"Aren't you worried about the authorities? It is against the law for homosexuals to meet. And, why do you host these groups?"  
"One question at a time young man. My guests prefer the quiet sanctity of my home. Most so than the pubs."  
"Do you not worry about the police raiding you?"  


The Earl lets out a large burst of laughter, "Mister Holmes, there are enough 'authorities' out there not to have to worry. Besides, your brothers' presence alone assures us complete immunity. I assure you we are perfectly safe."

* * *

Conversation stops and the mood suddenly changes. Changes in subtle ways.  
The firelight plays over the Earl's sleek body, and he peers deep, almost into my soul. I begin to feel a warmth, a creeping awareness of him.

His eyes are almost the same shade of blue-green as mine.

* * *

There's a seductiveness to Frederick. A gentle, 'i won't hurt you' feel.  
He excites me, enticing me with nothing more than his demeanor.  
His legs that were crossed, now slowly and suggestively spread apart. Wide apart.  
Enough to see the tenting of his trousers. 

My breath has accelerated, aware of what he's wordlessly asking.  
I could leave. Right now.   
Get up and go out of this room, this house.

I'm paralyzed. Can't take my eyes off him.

* * *

With his free hand, the Earl brushes his palm down his shirt, stopping at the waistband of his tan trousers, his thumb catching at the buttons.  
His lids droop, as he lowers his head down to his chest, humming his desire.  
My legs uncross to release the tension now noticeable by me, and by him.  
A soft smile crosses his face.

* * *

The light flickers, giving this scene a dreamlike quality, along with the quiet of the room and our elevated breathing.

* * *

I know to either get up and leave or be drawn into his seduction. Because it is a seduction.

Placing my drink on the floor, I follow his example using both my hands, smoothing my shirt. At my waist I let the first button come open and drop my eyes down to his crotch.

"Damn," his fingers unbutton all, and he opens the flaps wide, to expose his erect shaft.

"Damn you're exquisite," l murmur under my breath.

Without hesitation he's down on his knees, sliding over to where I sit, his eyes riveted to my crotch.  
Unbuttoning me with shaky fingers, he unfolds my cock into his hand.

"May I?" his voice a whisper, his fingers already playing on my shaft.  
May I? Is he really asking for my permission? What would be if I said no?

How can I say no? I'm too far gone to complain.  
I give a quick nod, sinking down further into the seat, trousers pulled down to my ankles.

"Ahm, oh" the only thing my brain can register, my eyes focusing on what his hands are doing to my stiff cock.

"You? What about you--?"  
"Later. I'm too busy taking all of you in," the Earl's mouth entrapping my cock, driving up and down, in a steady motion, his hand pursuing his mouth.  
"You can't--,"  
"Can't what? Say it."  
" I haven't had-, oh stop."  
"Stop? Do you want me to? I will," his hand off my cock.  
"Confused. I'm so confused."  
"Are you saying you prefer women?" still on his knees.  
"No, no. It's not that," tears quickening in my eyes.

I lay my head back on the chair, place my hands in his hair, and push him down," do it, please. I--do-- I need it."  
Those soft lips again cover my cock, and his hand rubs my balls.  
"Ohhhhh, yes, yes, give it--," a stiffening of my hips, a quick release, him swallowing all my ejaculate.

* * *

My breath quiets to its normal state. 

* * *

Back to his chair, he perches on the edge of it, those hooded eyes never leaving my body, while he drops his pants.

I know it's for me to satisfy him now.

* * *

Picking up my trousers, leaving them unbuttoned, I take the few steps to him, collect his glass of whiskey, kneel, take a sip and let the liquor spill over his stiffness.

"Oh my god, yes!"  
His head slides backward, looking towards the ceiling, hands enfold into my curls, his moans deep, long and wild.  
I lick the golden liquid over his tip, spreading it, pulling him into my mouth.  
Pushing those hips up closer to me,"fuck, damn, hell," yanking on my hair, he gives out with one long shiver, bursting his sticky, warm fluid unexpectedly into my mouth

My head moves away, I take my handkerchief out and spit his come into it. Embarrassed.  
He had no problem swallowing me, but I couldn't do it for him.

"Oh, I should have warned you before I--. A gentleman would have asked first before coming in your mouth. But you--well, and I was so eager I lost my self-control. Forgive me?"

I'm so unsettled by my motives, my passion, that I can't react to his question.

* * *

I move back to my chair and put my clothes back in order, so taken aback by this barrage of my senses.

* * *

"I should be leaving," up on my feet, not quite sure what comes next.

"Was this too much for you, younger Holmes? Did I discomfort you in any way?"  
"I don't know what to make of this sudden--, my sudden--," pausing to catch my breath,"I don't know you or anything about you."

"You arrived here with the intention of sex being uppermost and private. Isn't that what transpired? And any of those men in there you would not have known. So-?" his voice amused, trails off.

* * *

Stepping towards me, his hand smoothes down my hair, then over to my cheek.  
Again I'm stymied. I like him. But what is he expecting of me?

" Would I be asking too much of you if I invited you to dinner sometime soon?"  
"Sir, I don't want you to think I do this, this thing," waving my hand to my body to indicate what we'd just done, "at all, let alone so impetuously."  
"The very fact that you didn't join the others is proof of that. I fancy you and dinner will not by definition mean sex."  
"That would be most agreeable then."

His hand touches my arm, briefly, then steps away, and says,"if tomorrow night at five is amenable then I'll let you see yourself out."  
"Five would be delightful," keeping to the same quiet tone he has adopted.

I take steps towards the door, change direction to look at him, to see he's already turned away from me.

* * *


	3. Snooping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft, ever the snoop. Ever the one watching Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a big chapter.

The next morning Mycroft makes an unannounced call to my flat.

* * *

"Little brother, where did you disappear to last night?"  
"I didn't like the circumstances I was placed in and came home," hoping he doesn't see through my lie.

I want to conceal from him at least some of my everyday movements, particularly in my dealings with the Earl.

* * *

" I take it then; it was not to your liking?"  
"Too many people, too much exhibitionism," wishing he would keep his mouth shut about my previous escapade from years past. The one he continually throws in my face.

Mycroft snorts in his peculiar way," Ah too bad. Sometimes these 'exhibitions' as you put it can be most stimulating."  
"You were most stimulated, as I could see," the sneer in my voice meant to cut.

He doesn't answer back, which means I scored a bulls-eyes.

* * *

I pick up any old paper on my desk to fiddle with, keeping my head averted from him but smiling to myself.

* * *

"Changing the subject, how is Doctor Watson, Mycroft? Is he under your roof yet?"  
Ignoring me, he putters around the room, moving a dirty plate with his cane, peering into my liquor cabinet, making a general nuisance of himself.

"And what makes you think that?" picking up my teacup, sniffing the long empty contents.  
"Intuition brother. He gives the impression of a challenge. And you take pleasure in overturning that contrariness."  
"And you? You see him as a challenge also. All's fair, as the saying goes," his eyes gleaming.  
" Yes, all's fair. But in the end, though, I'll win him over."  
"You don't have the--je ne sais quoi, that little something, little brother of mine."  
"We'll see about that. Care to place a --," stopping short. The memory of that from a long time ago hurts, deep.  
"A wager, Sherlock? Do you think you'll win? Not this time! Not any time," sneering.  
"Fuck you, you bastard!

* * *

Banging his cane on the floor, he leans on it, and the anger on his face is unavoidable.

"That's enough Sherlock. I'm taking my leave."  
"What was the reason for your dropping in now? To see who I shagged last night?"  
"Who or what you do sexually is none of my--"  
"Now you say that? How dare you! Get out!"

Turning on his heel, he storms out, his cane a staccato on the steps.

* * *


	4. Dinner With the Earl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Earl and Sherlock have dinner and for dessert?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very mild sex

Dressed for my dinner with the Earl, in front of my mirror, I'm very apprehensive and puzzled.   
I'm so much younger than him. Do young men interest him? Is that the intrigue, the sexual arousal?

* * *

My sexual exploits have been limited to my hand.  
Ever since--I've been too afraid of intimacy. The pain of feelings it causes. The hurt!  
Because of this, what happened to me last night was an enigma.

His coolness, his sexuality radiated from him as hot as fire. I was helpless in the face of it.

And, if I'm completely honest with myself, I loved every second of it.

* * *

I'm alone in his library and look in awe at the bookshelves lining three walls. The fourth wall is a floor to ceiling window with flowered curtains on either side.

* * *

His large book collection has me interested. From history, science, philosophy, and novels, my fingers tickle along the spines, old and new.

* * *

"Sherlock, I am glad you're here. I did think you'd cancel our dinner," walking in, the picture of wealth in his gray suit, under which is a light blue shirt."

"If I weren't going to accept your invitation, I would have sent word. Oh, sorry, didn't mean it to come out so curt."

I'm quite edgy. Don't know what to imagine. No, I do know what to envision, not sure I--.  
Oh, let's face it! You're curious; you're enchanted and aroused. Well not yet.

* * *

"You were admiring my book collection?" stepping one leg up on an ottoman, his arm resting on the knee.

"Yes, I'm a lover of books. And your library holds many exciting editions. I'm proud of the small selection I have but yours--"  
"My library is open for you to visit. Borrow whatever you wish."

My mouth curves into a smile, and I salute with a dip of my head.

* * *

"Drinks first?" his foot off the stool, moving towards the sideboard.

I suspect he's not too sure how to continue this evening either. His hesitancy gives me more confidence.  
For all the age difference he's still a human, afraid to upset everything.

I nod yes, and he pours a whiskey and sits in the same chair as last night.

I can't help it, hard as I try to suppress a laugh, it gets away.  
He starts to giggle, hand over his mouth. We react like silly young boys, a secret between us.

"What happened last night-" he starts to say, stops, "nevermind, let's not talk about it. Whatever 'it' was. Into the dining room for dinner."

* * *

Pulling out a chair for me to sit, I ask,"shouldn't I be doing that your Earlship?"  
"Your Earlship," lips licking into my ear," is interested in your service in only one way," reaching down, grasping my crotch briefly before settling down in the high-backed chair perpendicular to me.

He's playing, not taking it seriously. And I choose to do the same.  
But the outcome will be sex, this I know. What if I didn't want to play? Would he be angry?  
No, not him. He'll take it graciously and leave me alone.

* * *

"Do I still call you Earl even though I sucked your--?"  
"Don't be an upstart, young man. Frederick is fine. While we're alone."

* * *

Dinner goes well, but every once in a while there's slight breathiness, a hitch in a voice, and a silence pregnant with unsaid, what?

* * *

In the library, Frederick lowers himself partway in his chair, pauses and sits on the sofa. A snort of sorts escapes his lips, hands covering his mouth.

Trying to ignore the sensations that are climbing steadily higher in my penis, I survey the library, pulling out two science books to set them on a table.

The tenseness between us grows as I plant myself in the chair opposite him, opening one of the books, pretending to peruse. 

* * *

I take a deep breath, feelings popping up that haven't entered my mind in years. 

Go ahead, Sherlock, make the first move, take the challenge.  
Standing, walking over, purposely thrusting my hips forward, I sit, cozying up to him. I rub my thigh against the Earls.  
Straight ahead we still stare; I hear his breathing accelerate.

* * *

What do I want to do? I can say my goodnight and walk out, or, turn and kiss him.  
My head goes around to stare at him, just as he does.  
The desire I see in his eyes must reflect what is in mine.  
A light kiss on the lips, touching his cheek with my fingers.  
His one hand reaches to my hair and combs through it.  
My lips gently bite his, probing him to open, he moans. My tongue swipes inside, our tongues collide.

* * *

"Damn Sherlock, what the hell are you doing to me?"  
"Exactly what you want me to do your royal Fredrick sir," teasing his ear, my tongue plying in and out.  
"I am not your sir.  
"Oh, that's right! I'm your sucking sir!"  
"Bold of you Sherlock. Maybe too bold."

I break away, unsure if what I said overstepped boundaries.

"Why are you--? Oh, what I just uttered? Never mind that. I was playing with you. Continue where you left off, my bold minion."

* * *

Can I be feeling these intense emotions again? Will I find, at the end of this adventure, heartbreak?

Frederick is smiling, enjoying the slight play between us and so I might as well proceed.

* * *

I bow to my waist locating my head into his lap and blow on his now cramped trouser space.  
Back up to see him trying to contain a smile, acting like he's upset.  
" I will always bow to your royal equipment."  
What a gusty laugh he gives me!

"Oh fuck you, Sherlock, you say the nicest things."  
We laugh into each other's mouths, and tongues swipe inside, "Oh you want to fuck me do you?" snickering at him.

His mouth lowers to my neck, teeth taking a piece of skin and sucking hard, shoving me on my back on the sofa.

"No, no you don't," as I tangle my arms around him, knees pushing him up.

He tumbles off the sofa, onto the floor, his arms pulling me on top of him.

"As my inferior, you should be on the bottom," he grunts and rolls me over.  
"My dear master, I should be servicing you and therefore on the top," tossing him onto his behind, his legs thrashing.

* * *

I can't wait, don't need any more stimulus. I unbutton his pants and mine, pulling them down.  
Our cocks touch each other, lock into a fight for supremacy.  
My heart racing, my tongue sucking, licking, biting, finding purchase wherever I can.

"Your fucking noble sir, take that," sliding harder against his hips, my thrust, our groans.

* * *

Whose wetness is whose is not a concern.  
It only serves to excite me even more.  
My hips tighten, balls roll up and with a shout, of "Earl of come," I unload onto him.  
He cries out, bites my finger and his cock empties.

* * *

Laying back, holding hands, we let the afterglow seep through us.

* * *

"This has got to stop Sherlock, I am older than you and should have some control over us."  
"You know what? You're full of it," laughing.  
"No, I'm not. You emptied me just now."

* * *

He tickles me, both shrieking, fingers, hands finding our tender spots, not stopping until we're out of breath.

* * *

"I have such a wonderful idea, your worshipfulness, why not call a servant to expunge the evidence of your 'non-control'?"  
More giggles and snorts, we clean ourselves up in the kitchen, and with only our drawers on we scrounge for the makings of sandwiches and a bottle of wine.

* * *

Frederick is a joy to be with, I see. He's the first since--. There's no sense in what I'm doing. Why do I continually go back to him? To that time?

* * *

"You are a perfect foil for the stiff, inflexible people I meet, Sherlock. Yes, even the gay men. Have you ever had sex with a man who has to brush his teeth before he inserts his cock in you?"  
At my wide-eyed look, not believing him, he slaps his hand on his knee, "See. That's what I like. You are refreshing. Virginal."  
If only he knew--.

* * *

"You do not mean that statement. About brushing--."  
"Oh yes, my dear, oh yes."  
" Would I know him?" My immediate thought is my brother. His insistence on cleanliness borders on obsessive.

"No, that was long ago."  
"What other nonsense can you disclose that might amuse me?"  
"One night, when we're in bed, bored, I'll relate them."  
"Will we ever be bored?" my hand under the table, reaching for the flap in his drawers, waiting to see if he's aroused again.

* * *

"Some serious business, Sherlock," deflecting my hand," I have to be in France for about two weeks. I would love to invite you, but that would raise eyebrows. And I can't afford that."  
"Could we not travel as friends," taking the last bite of the ham and cheese sandwich.  
"No. I have always kept a distance in my alliances. No one can gossip about me. Don't get me wrong, there has always been gossip, but that's how it stays."

* * *

Looking anywhere but Frederick I feel daring enough to ask.  
"If I can be bold. Have you ever had a long-term boyfriend?"  
"Yes. It lasted years. We kept to our separate ways. I lived in my house and him in his. He died. A horse accident."  
"Oh, sorry for prying," very discomforted with his admission.  
"No, no. It was better that way. If he had lived, he would have been in a wheelchair the rest of his life. Twenty four hour care etcetera. Since then there's been two, but not as long and not as strong. I was also married to a woman for twenty-two years. To keep up appearances. She left and is somewhere in Italy."  
"Did she know about--?" "It took a while, but yes, and that's why she left. She was so compassionate about us. So understanding."

Fiddling with his napkin, "he died three years or so later. She and I still correspond."

* * *

Bending over, tousling my curls, his head lowers to peer into my eyes which have not looked at him at all since we started this conversation.

"And you, my friend? I sense there's something. Something you won't talk about."  
I'm pleased he hasn't directly asked about my liaisons. I could not, and would not answer him.

* * *

" My stay away will not be any longer than the two weeks if that's any comfort."  
"It will be a long two weeks."

* * *

"One request, please. When next in London, I will host another party and would love for you to attend."  
"Why?" I cry out, "Why do you ask that of me. You know I won't participate, why?" very upset.  
"It would give me great enjoyment to see other men admire you."  
"You mean for you to watch while--?"  
He nods.

"I will have to ponder on your suggestion, Frederick. But I seriously doubt it. Even for you, your Earlship"

* * *


	5. Dinner with Mycroft And John Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What more can Mycroft do to goad Sherlock?

Oh, for heaven's sake! I'm invited to Mycroft's again for dinner! I can't wait until I can decline one of his offers.

* * *

I know, from hearsay that Doctor Watson has left the professor and has moved in with brother dear.  
This dinner is to rub my nose in it.  
Intending to pretend that it's all well and good I know my brother will see through any ruse I put up. 

* * *

I'll go anyway, needing some conversation with someone other than myself.

* * *

In the library of Mycroft's home, the two men are sitting, Mycroft behind his desk and John across from him. 

* * *

There is an ornately carved, wood mahogany desk that takes up a significant portion of the room.  
It's an old piece from the fifteenth century, and Mycroft relishes in showing it off.  
I have always loved it myself.  
My grandfather owned it and Mycroft, as a child, had asked Papa for it.  
It was willed to him when the Grandpa Holmes died.

* * *

"Ah, Dr. Watson, how delightful to see you here," confirming what I've heard but not letting onto it.  
" Your brother has been so kind to me and since my benefactor has been, how shall I delicately put it, removed by the law, I have been invited to stay in this house."

* * *

Mycroft got his wish! He's showing little brother that he has the power. If he fancies anything, he most likely will have it. And at the moment, Mycroft has the control.

* * *

Mycroft's back is turned away from us, pouring drinks, with I'm sure a half-smile on that inscrutable face.

* * *

I stare intently at the doctor.  
What attracts me to him? Is it his complete opposite from--?  
He's very controlled, but I can tell there's a tension, a spring which can unwind at a moments notice.  
He returns my gaze, and I notice his blue eyes.  
Beautiful, intelligent blue eyes.  
Honest blue eyes.  
Not dark, dark eyes.

* * *

I drop my inspection of him when he doesn't flinch from my intense gaze.

* * *

Walking over with a drink in each hand my brother gives one to me and one to the doctor. He picks up his already full glass and again sits behind the desk.

* * *

I remain standing, my gaze going between the two.  
"Gentlemen, dinner will be ready shortly," Mycroft says with his eye focused on Doctor Watson.

"Mycroft, I find it captivating that you and the good doctor have remotely anything to discuss,"needling the man.  
"Sherlooocccck--," drawing out my name, a warning.  
"After all, your interests lie in politics and government, and Doctor Watson's is in the-," and I pause and look at the man again, a smirk on my face which only he can see.  
"The body, so to speak."  
"Sherlock if you don't stop this bit of nonsense, I will send you swiftly home to your flat."

* * *

This interplay amuses Doctor Watson, and he stands, turning first to me then to Mycroft.  
"Oh, no, I'm enjoying this. My sister and I have the same dynamics as you two."  
"Pray do tell me, who gets the last word?" Mycroft steps in.  
"That is debatable," bowing his head to each of us.

* * *

Doctor Watson turns his attention to me, apparently trying to change the subject.

"Sherlock, are you finding law interesting? Exciting?"  
Snorting, " I left that position a month ago. Mycroft so generously offered it to me. Boring!"

Turning my back on my brother when he snarls, I continue, "A college friend recommended me to the National Security Department. Right now, I'm his assistant. I go along with him to crime scenes. It is most riveting. I've become so involved that I have been a regular at Scotland Yard. I have to say I've solved two small cases on my own."

"He could have had--," I interrupt my brother, "Yes I could have. But this is mine. Not some idiotic position you found for me, thank you."  
" I am going to pursue this further. There's a detective at Scotland Yard that is encouraging me."

* * *

All goes quiet for moments until the call for dinner comes.

* * *

At the table, John, trying to bring peace says," are you finding the clubs amusing Sherlock?  
"Why would I? They're detestable!"  
Mycroft, bitingly answers, " Not that detestable. You enjoy playing the exhibitionist. It's something you know--"  
"Damn it Mycroft stop. Must you continually bring up a subject that's been dead-- for years?"  
"But when we exhibit, as you would say, we are in safe houses. Not some grimy bathroom, where a professor finds you with--"  
" Why, why are you inflicting this on me? How many years ago? To embarrass me in front of--?"  
He pointedly ignores me and to John says, " Sherlock loves the dramatics, being center of it all. If I hadn't pulled rank--"

Standing, banging my hands on the table, "you thought he was beneath the Holmes dignity and name. The lower class you said."  
Raising his head, he deliberately says, "stick to your own kind. Like the Earl."

Dammit, he knows! Of course, Mycroft always knows.

* * *

All through this verbal abuse, John sits, eyes cast down to the table, looking at neither of us.  
" You got caught, trousers down ready to-- with that--.  
Pushing his chair behind him, up on his feet, fists banging the table," It was I, yes, I who saved you from prison."  
Shouting, on my feet,"you had him thrown out of the school.--" a scene revisited by me a million times in my dreams, being in the office with his parents present.  
"I loved him-, Mycroft. Loved him." now my voice was wobbling, almost to tears, self-conscious with another person present; my head turned sideways from him.  
Mycroft's voice raised, coming back at me, " that wasn't love it was--."

* * *

John jumps up knocking his chair over, arms spread wide,"stop it, stop it this instance! " his voice booming out, eyes blazing,"that's enough from both of you."

His voice moderately lower, "Mycroft, you will sit down now! And no more of this!"  
"Sherlock, now you. Sit!" we both calmly comply.

* * *

John picks his chair up, clears his throat, says, " now that I've unwound from the professor would you like to hear what my long-term goals are, Sherlock? "

His voice so quiet I almost miss him speaking. He's trying to change the bitterness, the contempt hanging in the room.

* * *

I can't answer, my thoughts are adrift. Mycroft has done it again. Thrown it in my face.  
How many times! Why does he continue? To let me know he's superior?

* * *

Doctor Watson continues as if nothing has occurred, "Because Mister Holmes has invited me to stay as long as needed it gives me the opportunity to find employment and save money for a flat," his eyes focused on me.  
He's willing me to calm down. To get back to the moment.

" You'll be thrilled to know I recently found employment at Bart's Hospital. I also hope to open a practice of my own at some time in the future."

* * *

Mycrofts' hand slides over Doctor Watson's. I see his fingers caressing the doctors' palm, a pointed gesture, aimed at me.

"Doctor Watson has been a great companion to me."

'Oh, I bet,' I think to myself!

* * *

Rising, I cannot continue with any food right now. Sick to my stomach, head spinning, my body wound like a spring.

Speaking between clenched teeth, " I'm leaving," ignoring my brother but bowing to John.

* * *

At the front door, John rushes up to me," Mister Holmes, contrary to what you believe, your brother and I have not been intimate. He is trying to goad you."  
"He is very good at that as you just witnessed. Doctor Watson, would you like to goad him back. I would enjoy your company at my home one night. Can we plan for an evening?"  
The doctor laughs, "But not at your home. That would be too blatant. And I'm not ready to leave your brother's shelter. But," a twinkle in those blues, "I'm beginning to enjoy being fought over as if there is a prize at the end."  
"Oh, isn't there?" I say with eyes raised to peer into those blue eyes.

* * *

Before there's any more discourse on the subject, Mycroft is standing in the hall, smirking. Oh, he knows just what he's doing. Trying to manipulate me at every turn, using me.

I can play this game also.  
"What night would be convenient for you?" loud enough for him to hear.  
"Wednesday night? The bar at the Lexington?"  
"I will see you then," opening the door, slamming it shut. Nothing to say to Mycroft.

* * *


	6. Impressing John Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is trying his darndest to get John to like him.

Walking into the hotel bar the first thing that catches your eyes is the enormous skylight overhead. 

The room itself is very simply decorated, and the bar is a walnut color. Chair back swivel stools are set in the front. The back bar is lined with bottles of all sizes and colors. And a large mirror.

* * *

At the bar sits two men in their sixties, I would guess, one stool away from each other. Strangers. 

* * *

And there's Doctor Watson. Three stools separating him from the others.

* * *

I've arrived on time but stand off to one side to concentrate on him. He's shorter than I, a bigger boned man. He will bald at an early age. His dress is simple, everyman wear. I know there is no money in the family and his clothes show it.  
I'm quite sure he's not gay. I think

* * *

Turning, he sees me standing there and his smile lights his face.

I take the stool next to him; he grips my arm, his way of saying hello.

"So glad you could come."  
"Sorry for being late."  
"Oh? You weren't late. I saw you in the mirror. Inspecting me, were you?" that slight upturn grin throwing me off course.

"Learning about you, that's all."  
"And what did you learn, Sherlock Holmes?"  
Ignoring the question at the moment," What are you drinking?" seeing a mixed drink on the bar top at his elbow.

" Evading my question?" with a sly smile on that face. Not upset.

" Okay, have it your way. Its called a Pimm's Cup. Gin, fruit juices and some spice, with ginger ale. Try it,"pushing the glass over.  
The taste doesn't sit well with me, and I ask the bartender for whiskey.

* * *

Here goes, I think to myself. Let's see how right you are about him.

" You mentioned a sister. Older than you would be my assumption. Married, but not happy."  
" How in the world did you know that?"  
" If her relationship was solid you would be living with her. But it's not. You don't want to be involved in the arguments."  
" Harry, my sister is a lesbian. Her girlfriend, Clara, is talking about walking out on her. And that's because of Harry's excessive drinking."  
"I suppose your parents are not approving of Harrys' leaning."  
Chuckling," I think they would rather she be an alcoholic than queer."

* * *

And there would be the crux of John's problem. He might be afraid to come out. To admit he was gay. Of course, it's also more hazardous for men.  
Women can cohabitate because it's generally thought that females could never physically love another woman.

* * *

"Any relationships on your part recently?" I ask him without directly staring. Instead, I see his face in the back mirror.  
"The usual boy meets girl in university thing. She was fun, but it got old. Broke it off senior year and did lots of shagging, you know, one night stands. And you?"  
" You've heard Mycrofts' ranting. That was about all."  
" Care to give your side of the story? "  
"Not really."  


Without hesitation I veer our conversation to something safer, choosing not to answer him any more than that.

* * *

" While inspecting a crime scene, I found traces of blood. The police, at first thought it human. Upon my analyzing it, I found it was animal. I've been delving more into the differences."

* * *

And that leads into a lively exchange which lasts quite a while.

* * *

"I must say, Sherlock, you are well versed in this subject."

His blue eyes shining, appraising me. Would he appreciate the fact that I purposely researched this topic? To have a dialogue with him!

It's been a lovely evening, but I'm aware it will go no further at the moment. Ah well, let's leave him to my brother. I have an Earl to enjoy.

* * *


	7. Frederick-The Earl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is invited to the Earls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's sex. cock sucking and an almost ass penetration.

I dress with considerable care for this evening with the Earl.

* * *

He's not only handsome, in that way that some men acquire as they age, but he's kind. And damn sexy!

* * *

Since my university days, no one has affected me sexually. I've considered myself neutral. Neither men nor women interest me in that way.

My black pants, sleek, showing every movement of my derriere, a ruffled white shirt, dark green vest and black coat.

Twisting this way and that in the full-length mirror, satisfied with the statement I'm sending. Placing an opulent opal ring on my middle finger, a gold-topped cane, black gloves finish off my dress.

* * *

I enter the library, my heart racing. Frederick turns to face me, his eyes bright, moving to pull me into his embrace, his kisses at first light, airy, but tantalizing in their promise.

* * *

"Dear Sherlock, I've missed you. Do you want to devour me now or later?" a broad grin as he surveys my dress.  
"Sir, your royal whateverness, I am at your service, what is your command?"

He grazes my ear, my neck, and with a whisper, "let's go to my bedroom and let me show you how much I missed you"  
" My lord, you are extremely lecherous tonight. Are you not?"  
"No, I wouldn't say extremely. But lecherous, oh yes. For only you."

* * *

Ascending the stairs his hand grasps at my rear, squeezing, feeling the flesh beneath. I wear no drawers.

* * *

"You naughty boy. You tease your Earl," pulling me to a stop halfway up, his hand dropping underneath my trousers, clutching my cheek. I hang onto the railing, letting him have his way.  
With a choked voice," Is my lord content with what he's exploring?"  
"I don't know. Won't until my lowly servant uncovers it."  
"If you will allow me to ascend the steps to enter your boudoir I will exhibit myself to you."

* * *

This is the first time I have visited the upstairs, at all, let alone his bedroom.

* * *

It's sparsely furnished compared to the rest of the dwelling.

* * *

The one piece of furniture that catches my eyes upon entering is his bed. You cannot miss that bed! 

Oh, what a bed!  
It's a four poster wide enough to fit at least six people without cramping anyone.

* * *

The bedding is dark red silk with gold braiding on the coverlet. It matches the hangings of the curtains on the windows. Black sheets, silk are peeping out of the cover.

* * *

On the side table, there's a clear pitcher filled with water, flannels, a decanter of whiskey, a vial of olive oil, condoms, and chocolate truffles. 

* * *

Chocolates?

"You naughty man. You tease your servant," echoing his words.  
And in the next breath, I say, "you have prepared well, my lord," my breath short, needing, wanting his touch. 

* * *

He pours two glasses of whiskey, one to my hand, silently raising his glass to toast, and deposits it on the table.

* * *

"Goddammit! I can't wait, can't begin to think of playing. I want to fuck you until you shout to the rooftops," stripping off all but his drawers. Even at his age, his body is beautiful. I stand there admiring it!

"And you are waiting for what? Do you think I'm going to undress you? You lowly drudge. I wouldn't soil my hands on you."  
"But you would put your cock in my mouth," playing along with him.  
"Only if it brought me pleasure first," watching his drawers rise, his desire open to see.

* * *

Pulling down the coverlet to reveal the black sheets he lies back, hands under his head.

* * *

"Strip for me. Make me want you."  
"You already do sire," pointing to his drawers and the slightly wet spot on them.  
"Insolent prat!" Remove those clothes, or I'll have one of my servants tear them off and whip you."  
A tremor runs through my body. He can't mean that! About whipping me!

He can see my distress and much more gently, "Sherlock, strip for me please."

* * *

Here's my chance to let myself relax and show off my body. 

Taking a stance at the foot of the bed I begin by holding my head high, shoulders back, and rock my hips from side to side.  
I muss up my hair, dragging the curls over my face, hiding my eyes, and then offer a sexy smirk.  
Placing one foot on the mattress, I give him a great view of my bulge and tighten the material to show off my thighs.  
I rock my hips back and forth, bring my foot to the floor, turn entirely away from him and strip off my shirt.  
The garment goes over my shoulder, and it falls onto the bed.  
While in that stance I twist my head, give a smile and a wink.

"Jesus!" is the small sound I hear from the bed.

I bend far over until my bum is at a perfect curve, remove my shoes and socks.  
Turning back to him my fingers undo each trouser button, one hand sliding in and manhandling myself.

"Shit, fuck," removing his wet drawers, the Earls cock at a full stance.  
His hand starts to wander down, but he stops himself, making a fist.

Gyrating my hips I pivot around, my back to him as I slowly slide my trousers off, and make sure to caress my ass, giving him a glimpse of cheeks.  
Taking two truffles from the table I set them around his upright shaft, climbing between his spread legs.

"Oh god! Hurry! Eat me. Eat my cock," eyes cast down to his cock, protruding from the middle of the chocolate delicacies.

"Which side of your truffled cock will make me bigger, caterpillar?" My reference to the Alice in Wonderland eating of the mushroom.

"The left side, Alice, and be quick about it, or I'll flog you."  
Frightened, but I have to ask," Would flogging me get you to come?"  
"Stop this. Get serious. Get your damn mouth on my dick and get me off."

* * *

Crawling on the bed, cat-like, picking a truffle off his pubic hair, I pop it in my mouth.  
Softening it until my coated tongue slides up his stiff member.  
His cock a chocolate delight. The sight in front of me, brown with the sweetness. 

"Yessss, yes, damn, hell, oh hell! Now!"  
His stomach muscles coil, hips twitch, and he hisses.

"I'm so close, can't stop it, I'll--" his hands tugging at my hair, pulling me away.  
"Turn yourself," he gasps,"give me your prick."

On our sides, our cocks filling our mouths, the humming, the swishing sound of our tongues, the intake, and outtake of cocks suckled.  
All that halts when I spurt my come, spasming into his mouth.

* * *

"I'm going, grrrr," through gripped teeth--, halted by an eruption of liquid filling my open mouth.

* * *

Collapsing next to him, his lower body still coated with leftover truffle, his empty cock lying limp.

* * *

The two flannels I use to clean him up are covered in the leftover chocolate and dumped onto the floor.

* * *

"You son of a bitch. Who knew you had it in you to do a striptease like that."

* * *

Frederick has a servant bring sandwiches and tea up to the bedroom, and with a wood tray on our laps we feed each other, joking, teasing.

* * *

Why is it so easy to smile, giggle with him? Seriousness never enters into our play. No discussion of being a couple. I feel free with him.

* * *

The meal finished we lie down. Within minutes I hear a modest snore from the Earl and cuddling up to him I soon follow.

* * *

What a joy to wake in the middle of the night to fingers playing under the bed covers, touching, caressing, moving my limp penis.

"You do want this don't you?"  
"Hmm, keep going," curling up on my side facing his body"  
"I want something more from you. I want to enter your most private chamber, claim you for myself."  
"Your royal highness is expecting much from your servant," breathing harshly, fright gripping me.  
I'm not sure he notices the stress I'm feeling.

"If you are my servant, then you will assist me in attaining my orgasm. "

* * *

His hand continually manipulates my penis, forcing me to lose all coherent thought.  


Kicking off the cover his penis visibly upright, he moves his legs apart.  


I slip between them, look up into that face. In the only light left from the fading fire, his eyes wide, mouth open, he's the picture of decadence.

* * *

Teasing him I play my tongue on the inner side of his thighs, down to the underside of his knees, sucking, licking, tasting the salt on him.  


"Damn, servant, what are you waiting for, do me!"  
"Master, you do me a disservice. I want to make this experience the best for you."

My lips kiss up to his round, tense balls, the fullness of them in my mouth, hearing sharp intakes of breath every time I lightly inhale his bollocks.

* * *

"Ahh, ohh, shit, damn, hell" his voice chokes, waivers between loud and a soft sigh.  
"Sir, tis disgraceful to hear those terrible curse words come from the gentile likes of royalty as you."  
"Shut up you prick and suck," snickering; those words sound deep in his throat.

Carefully watching his face, his eyes, I lick up his stem, around the tip, and down again.  
Breath deep, but short, he raises his hips to thrust at me.  
I push them down, lick his prick, down and up, up and down. Slow strokes at first, then quickening.  
"Stop, "and he pushes me off him.  
"Up here next to me, servant of mine. On your stomach."

On his knees, behind me, he raises my hips, my ass in the air, my head resting on the pillow.  
A bottle of lube has come into my view, and my whole being dissolves into a shivering mass.

"Ssstop, sssstop. No," my hips smash down into the mattress.  
His hands slide up my back delivering soothing touches, his lips press into my skin with soft kisses.  
"Shhh, darling, shush. We can stop--."  
My voice is muffled by the pillow my face is thrust into," but I want to. You should have all of me. But-I can't"  
"Sherlock, I have all of you. What you give me is enough."

Raising my head up, to turn to see him, still kneeling behind me.

Is he giving up that easy? Is he not going to insist? To beg and whine?

Moaning, thrusting away from him. I know he's disappointed in me.

* * *

My past is blocking my future. I don't understand why I won't let him into my ass. Because with him, it would be tender, caring for my needs before his.

* * *

My right leg beats out a rhythm, banging on the black sheet.  
"What Sherlock. What is it that unnerves you?"  
"I can't. I don't want it," the emotion shaking me.  
He strokes, he whispers silly sounds to me.

* * *

I lie on my stomach, moaning into my pillow, Frederick lying on his side not touching, letting me be.

* * *

"What do you want to tell me? Is there something I should know?" 

* * *

Won't tell. Won't tell the memories. Won't tell the joy. Won't tell the heartbreak. That's all I have--memories.  
No picture, no mementos to take out, no physical remembrance to touch, to caress. Just memories.

* * *

I lie there, my sobs slowing down, silent in my misery. 

* * *

Like a good diplomat that he is Frederick doesn't ask more.  
He enfolds me in his arms, the blanket over us, we fall asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

Frederick is not in bed when I wake, and I don my trousers and wash my face.

His servant leads me to him in the dining room sitting at the table.

His dirty dish in front of him, he pours coffee for me, very somber.

* * *

I know this is ending. I know I've ruined it.

* * *

"Sorry, I didn't wait for you. I had an important message delivered to me early on and didn't want to disturb you. I won't be able to receive you for the coming week. I have pressing business to attend. Please forgive me."  


"That's an excuse. You're angry about--?" taking a seat and a sip of the hot coffee.  
"What? No, no. Absolutely not, my dear. Think no more about it," standing behind me, his arms around my neck, kissing, nipping.  
"Whatever you are at ease with, I assure you. It's your body and not mine. I take what you give me, gladly."  
Continuing his touching, his nipping at my neck I feel my tension release.  
" But aren't you going to insist I give you that?"  
Turning my head, "why in the world would I think of doing anything that you don't want, can't give?"  
He's disturbed by what I said. I don't know how to answer.

"But should there be anything you want to unburden yourself with, I'll be a good listener, promise." 

My head twists to see him, and his eyes speak the truth, his lips slip over to my cheeks, touching my neck, sliding around to my lips.

* * *

"In two weeks will be my fan party, and I want you there."  
"Frederick, you know how uncomfortable I am in that situation! Please don't ask this of me?"  
"My darling boy. I want you there. Whether you partake or not is up to you. I will not be forcing anything on you."

As I sit, he gets up," I must run. I'll be in touch," a peck on my cheek, he leaves me feeling relieved that he still wants to be with me.

* * *


	8. An Old Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good or Bad? Sherlock meets---him.

Should I send a message to the Earl stating that I'm unwell?  
Maybe it should be that I fell down the stairs and can't move! Broke my leg!  


Better yet, I'm fearful, panicky. Don't want to attend.  
But that's the truth!

* * *

What does he presume I'll do?

* * *

I have no choice.  
I care for him, not love him, but regard him very highly.  
I want his company.

* * *

And so, the evening of the party I dress in gray trousers, a bright red vest, red shirt, red tie and black coat.  
My sack coat cut slightly different from the standard. It flares out slightly at the waist and has a red buttonhole on the collar.  
Red should be a right color for this type of venture. The boldness of it will help hide my nervous state.  
I hope!

* * *

Making my way from the front door to the quiet hum of the small gathering, I stand straight as I walk in. Noticing quite quickly that only six men are here, myself not included.

How strange to have an odd number? Until I see Frederick enter the room and I breathe a sigh of relief.  
Frederick acknowledges my presence with a nod and progresses to a man who has his back to me.

Something in that back, the stance of his body, something familiar.  
My breath catches as he swivels around, and my breathing becomes non-existent, my body shivers.  
Looking fixedly at each other, the people, the room disappears.  
It's us.  
The two of us.  
I can't speak, can't think.  
Nothing has prepared me for what I see in front of me.

* * *

"Well, well, if it isn't, what's your name?" mocking voice, slowly sauntering across the room.

I try to back away, stumbling over my feet, bumbling two steps backward.  
" Don't go. We have lots to catch up on, yes, love? Don't we?" his words a whisper, while he stands inches from me, my legs stuck to the ground.  
" Yes, Sherlock Holmes. It's me. I never expected to find you at these soirees. Never expected to see you anyplace. Thought that brother of yours had you locked in a sterilized room, after our little--"

* * *

Closer still to me, enough to feel the heat rising from his.  
He lifts a finger, tracing a pattern on my cheekbone.  
Afraid and at the same time excited all wrapped in one package. 

It's him!

* * *

"God, I still remember our nights together. You were always so glorious looking, so debauched in bed. Or have you forgotten it all? Has your big brother erased that from your memory as he erased me from the school?"

Stuttering his next words, "I still love you. And you? Do you love me yet, my sweet one?"  
Tilting his head in his all too familiar way he waits. 

"Tongue-tied? Say something. Let me hear your rumbling voice."

His breath tinged with the smell of alcohol.  
Too close to me.  
The other hand caresses my cheek, "Come here, my pet, hug me."

* * *

It's the world stopping, the stars standing still, the earth not revolving. 

Here he is, in the flesh and I'm too terrified to do anything but stand stiff as a statue.

* * *

And those eyes, those dark, dark eyes.

* * *

I feel a pull at my sleeve, blinking a few times, stepping out of my dream.  
Frederick is standing to one side of me," Mister Holmes, I need your attention on a certain matter. You will excuse both of us, won't you?" staring at the gentleman in front of me.

He reaches out his hand for me to take and walks me away to a quiet corner of the room. Frederick has one arm around me, facing him.  
I have no tongue, no way of speaking.

"Something is amiss, is it not?"  
" Yes, I know this man. From university days. He--," fisting my hands, not able to talk coherently.  
" Do you want him to leave?" 

All I can do is nod my head, yes, my body wavering between folding myself into Fredericks' arms or running to those dark, dark eyes.

" Go to the library, and I will meet you there in a moment."

* * *

I wait for him, standing by the fireplace, trying to expel the deep freeze inside me. 

* * *

When the Earl enters he puts a hand on each of my shoulders.  
I look at his shoes, the floor, anyplace but his eyes.

* * *

"I've asked the guests to leave. Right now I'm going to get you a glass of whiskey, and you are staying the night with me." 

Mumbling my words," I want to get drunk, deeply drunk."  
"Not a good idea. I'll let you have two glasses and then off to bed. I'll curl up with you."

* * *

I know I sleep because the dream was there. He was standing in front of me, speaking, touching, loving.

* * *

No! It was not a dream! Real! 

* * *

Draping my legs over the edge of the bed, I walk to the window, the beginning light of the day entering the room.

He was here, here, and I let him go. My hand presses my cheek, to feel his shadow still on me.

"Sherlock," a sleepy voice from the bed," I wish I could stay with you today. I've been asked to go into my office. Go home. Don't do anything hasty. If you must, come after ten tonight. I'll be here."

* * *

Did I really see him last night? Yes!

* * *

Curled up in my armchair at my flat, I am suffocating in the drama, the horror, the wonderment of it all!

He touched me!  
He told me he still loves me!  


Have I forgotten it all?  
I can remember all of it. All of it.  
Starting from the day we met.

* * *


	9. University Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Sherlock meet at the University.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of sexual, verbal and physical abuse.

Boring! Boring! University life is dull! 

* * *

I'm not a sports buff, don't care for talk of women. Drinking is not, to me, falling in your puke.  
Boring!

* * *

I stick to my studies and books. Love chemistry and work in the lab long hours after classes.

* * *

I make friends with no one. Don't know how.

* * *

Growing up living in a mansion, miles from other houses, and other children, I learned to be on my own. I was homeschooled until my parents sent me to secondary school at age fourteen.

* * *

Now, at sixteen, I'm a virgin in social mores as well as sexual.

* * *

Boring.

* * *

Tired of being inside on this warm day in December I pull on my light coat and walk to the lakeside, books under my arm.  
I remembered seeing a wooden lawn chair with a high back and settle myself into it, my chemistry book in my lap.

* * *

Hearing voices coming close to me I sink deeper into the seat.  
The sounds stop at the nearby table and benches.  
Good! They can't see me!  
But soon their conversation perks my interest.

"Hey, ever shag a man?"  
"Yes," the deeper voice says," he was a neighbor. Took me into his house one day and sucked me. I kept going back. He never fucked my ass, but I did his. We met for some months. To this day I love having my dick sucked."  
"What stopped it?"  
"He became afraid someone might suspect. I was only thirteen. What about you?"  
"Nah, never had the chance and not sure I would want to do it or have it done."  
I hear a rustling sound; someone shifting on the bench.

"I tell you one fucking thing, Paul, if that Holmes fellow was a girl, wow!" his baritone voice rising.

I slouch down to make sure they don't detect me.

"You fancy him?"  
"Aww, come on! He looks like a living god. That fair skin, his cheeks, and those curls. When he turns away from you, it almost seems like he's a fucking woman. Those hips, that bum."

I'm sitting riveted. Both captivated and horrified.

* * *

"Hey, James. Tell you what. Here's a fiver. Why don't you try to get a kiss out of him?" the higher-voiced man, Paul, suggests.

I stiffen up, now straining to make sure I hear it all.

"Why would I want to?" he scoffs, a nervous laugh.  
"Okay, I'll make it a ten. How about it?"  
" You know what, you mother fucker, you've got a bet! This will be hilarious! Come on we best get to our room."

* * *

" I wish I could be there to see his face. And yours."

* * *

Furious is not the word. How dare they?

I can't study anymore and go inside. My day ruined.

* * *

Walking in the hall the next day James is just ahead of me in the lobby, and I walk fast to catch up.  
I grab his arm in a tight grip.  
"Hey what the--?"  
"Shut up and come with me," growling, dragging him.

* * *

Opening an empty classroom I shove him in, bang the door shut, slam him against the wall, and my mouth forces itself upon him.  
My tongue pushing his lips apart.

I break away, take out my wallet and throw a ten on the floor, and my fist connects with his jaw.

* * *

"Oww! Oh shit, you heard us!" holding his face, as he realizes what this all meant.

Opening the door I move into the hall and James, this time, grabbing my arm, a pleading in his voice," So sorry, Mister Holmes, please forgive us. It was a joke."

Shoving him aside I stride away, stepping around the students, trying to stay ahead of him.

He rushes after me, "Please forgive me. I meant no harm."  
"Go collect the rest of your money and shove it."

* * *

For the next few days, I receive notes from him, begging compassion. Asking to be my friend.

I write a note to him.  
_I have no friends_

_Yes, you do. Me_

That stops me short. I have to think about this new development. I guess he's trying to apologize and be a friend to me.

* * *

I stop James as I open the door to our class," I know you are in trouble with your maths and biology. I would like to assist you."  
I am treated to a huge smile

* * *

For the next weeks coaching James becomes something I look forward to.

His devil may care attitude, his charm, those dark eyes.

* * *

A favorite study place, when the weather warrants, is the gazebo near the lake

* * *

After one maths class, we are inside the octagon building when a sudden downpour hits. Rivers of water, a torrent, flow down. Our only shelter is the building we are in.

* * *

We're laughing about it when suddenly we look into each other's eyes.

James breath catches," damn, you have the oddest eyes. First green, then blue and hazel."

His eyes, dark, sparkling, dark eyes.

* * *

Our lips touch, a simple test, a beginning.  
Next a need to dart tongues in, to wander our hands on clothed flesh.

* * *

"How, where?" I beg for more.  
Unto the wood floor, clothes opening.  
Open enough to feel skin, to feel the friction.

* * *

It's so quickly over I wonder what has taken place.

* * *

"Sherlock, my Sherlock. Are you unhappy this took place?" trying his best to adjust his clothing.  
"No, not unhappy at all. Wish the ground wasn't so hard," as he and I break into giggles.

* * *

He helps get me up, and even buttons my trousers, teasing with his eyes.  
"If it's possible if you care, we can find softer accommodations," tilting his head.  
Asking to continue our new involvement with each other.

"Oh, I care. I care a lot. Not about the softness of the ground, but the--," and I touch his lips," gentleness of my lover's lips."  
"Oh, my love. I can call you that, you know. I do love you."  
"The feeling is very mutual, James."

* * *

I've had the pleasure of having a dorm room to myself, compliments of Mycroft.

* * *

James, though, having no money has had to live in a dormitory with three other students.

* * *

Evenings we join up in my bedroom, but it can't be every night, and he can't sleep in with me.  
His roomies would ask about him, and that's too risky. We must keep our love secret.

* * *

There's a corner of the library that is inadequately lit by the gas lamps.  
I inadvertently find the area one evening.

By sitting on the carpeted floor, we can hide from everyone else in the place.  
There is where we open our trousers and stroke our penises until we ejaculate.  
Because of it being in the open it occurs swiftly. I'm always shivering with the anticipation of it.

* * *

The gazebo, an empty classroom, under the trees at the lake, are some of the rendezvous venues we use.

* * *

How could this young man take all my attention, be the object of everything I think about?

* * *

Slim, dark hair, subtle facial features.  
In my mind's eye, beautiful features.  
His wit, his giddy humor, his creating moments of sheer fun.  
That is what has me thinking of him always.  
And those eyes, those dark eyes sparkle in those times.

* * *

"Ahem, Holmes. Can a spare a moment from you," the professor speaking as I'm walking out of his maths class.  
Stopping, waiting for him.

* * *

"Justin Parks. You know him?"  
"He's in our class, Professor.  
" He needs some work with his studies. Not a very disciplined young man. And, since you are both efficient and knowledgeable in all things numerical, I would hope I can convince you to tutor said Parks," looking over his glasses that sit on the edge of his nose.

* * *

Parks is a party-goer, more interested in drink than maths. But, it is a challenge, and I love that challenge.

* * *

I accost Justin as we enter our class and we agree, him very reluctantly, to begin working in my room after our last classes.

* * *

Justin and I have been working for almost two weeks, and to my surprise, he is doing well. Once in my presence, he becomes the model student.

* * *

One morning there's a note tucked under my dorm door.  
_meet me at gazebo seven tonight. No excuses_

What has my lover got planned? All I can think of during the day is the possibilities.

* * *

Canceling the tutoring for tonight, I put my coat on, since the weather has turned chilly, and walk to the lake.

* * *

James is pacing, giving me the impression from the stiff way he's walking that something is not right.

* * *

"You've been cheating on me. Fucking that Justin prick."  
" Why would you think that? You've been with us twice while I'm giving him lessons? You see nothing between us!"

Fisting my coat, so close his eyes, those dark eyes shoot flames.

" Take your coat off, you stupid prick," through clenched teeth.

I drop my coat on the ground, not sure why he's so upset.

"Your trousers and pants down, and wrap your arms around this tree and don't you fucking ask why"

A whoosh sound, a snap, I jump and yell out.  
James has a tree branch in hand and has whacked my backside, and not lightly.  
" You're not going to fuck around, understand?"  
"I'm not. I swear to you, my love."  
His whipping continues, as I cry out, twitch with each stroke, each touch against me.  
Stinging.  
My arms around the tree, my head bobbing, banging against the bark, each stroke a nightmare. 

Suddenly it all stops. I don't feel the branch against my skin, and I don't hear James.

* * *

Turning to see the branch on the ground and James walking towards the building, I pull up, gingerly, my clothes over my sore cheeks. Wiping my teared up face I walk stiffly to my room.

* * *

I did nothing wrong. Is James that jealous? I have to talk to him.

* * *

That night my door opens part way," Sherlock," the whispering voice of James, as he tiptoes in.  
Kneeling by the bed, " oh god, what have I done to you? Why did I do this? Are you hurt badly?"  
" You didn't break the skin. I'll be sore tomorrow, but it will heal. I should be upset with you, not talk to you, but I can't."  
His hand brushes my hair, kissing my forehead, my neck. Starting to my chest with nips and licks.

"You know I haven't cheated on you. Don't you?"  
"Yes, yes. Can you forgive me? I'm so possessive of you. I can't tolerate anyone else near you."

Lifting the covers he climbs in, his lips on every part of me, making me forget my pain.

" I love my Sherlock," after bringing me to an orgasm, he slips out to his room

* * *

Even though we cannot outright show our love, he has surprising ways of letting me know he's around.

A note slipped into my book, a touch of hands in the hall, a visit to the gazebo, his desires held off while taking care of mine. I delight in his kindness.

* * *

Justin and I move our tutoring to the library and commons room. With people surrounding us I have no doubt James feels more comfortable in our situation.

* * *

Spring! And spring in England is still rainy.

* * *

I join the university science club and twice a week we meet in the laboratory in the evening.

* * *

I inform James and he's delighted in my new interest.

* * *

Until, the third week when he announces to me his wish to go to the cinema.

"Let's make it another night. I have the science club tonight, and I'm presenting."  
"Can't you give it up for me, little old me," in that teasing way, his fingers trailing down my open shirt.  
"No, I can't. I'll make sure we can go tomorrow night."

* * *

The club session over, I step into the hall to see James waiting for me.

"I know it's late Sherlock. But you promised me you'd help with my maths."  
Understanding this, a signal, I nod and say goodnight to the other guys and walk away with James.

* * *

"Wait, where are we going?" as we walk in a different direction from my dorm.  
"Down to the end of the hall," and opens the door to a classroom seldom used.

He turns the lock on the door and leans on it. I can't see his face clearly in the near dark, but I can feel his tension.

* * *

"Because you preferred your science buddies over me, you let your James down. And for that, you must pay."  
"James, please don't--. I didn't do it on purpose."  
"Your clothing off, now."  
"James, please stop this. I'll do whatever you want only--."  
"Off now. Or I rip those expensive clothes off you. You don't want me to get violent do you?" his voice scissor sharp.

* * *

Stripping, clothing tossed over a chair, the only light is from the full moon, I stand apprehensively, waiting.

" Lean over the desk, spread your legs."  
"No, no--," whining, pleading.

* * *

A ruler sits on the desk next to my hand, he picks it up, slaps it on the counter and the next slap is the wood hitting on my ass cheeks.  
I bounce and stifle a yell.  
"James. Don't hit me. I'll do whatever you want. Please!"

But my plea goes unheard as the ruler slams down on me again and again.  
I cry out, jumping, my fists bang on the desk, tears roll down my cheeks.

The ruler drops to the floor, and James picks me off the desk and enfolds me in his arms.

"Oh, my poor, poor baby. So sorry I had to thrash you. I'll take good care of you, promise," the voice of remorse.

Cradling me and wiping my face with his handkerchief, he's all concern and sweet murmurings.

* * *

"Let me help you dress, and I'll see you safely to your room."

My only danger is him. Him and his damn mistrust.

* * *

Once inside, he makes me tea on my little burner, helps me to undress and soothes my hurting bottom with lotion. All the while babbling love words.

* * *

"You're my beautiful angel. I can't let anyone else near you. I love you so much."  
"I adore you, James. You know that. No one else can take your place and no one ever will."

* * *

Over the summer break, I'm at my parents' home, and James and I have agreed not to contact each other. And that makes the summer days even longer.

* * *

I take time to contemplate James and his complicated love for me.  
His extreme jealousy, his turnaround love after.  
I sometimes feel on a razor's edge, never knowing what will trigger an event.  
Even when he's his meanest I understand, I can endure it for the overpowering love he gives to me.  
And I return it in full measure.

* * *

What a joy it is to see him in the fall, back at classes, and our second evening we find a secluded classroom and spend four glorious hours enjoying each others' bodies. Even if it's only on the floor.

* * *

I've asked my chemistry professor for extra credit work and one night it finds me in the lab late.  
I had let James know I would be there.

"Peek a boo," his voice drifts in opening the door.  
"Anyone else around?" his head turning side to side, the gas lamps illuminating the lab and myself.  
"Why are you here?" knowing the answer I'm going to receive.  
"I thought this would be a great place and time to play," those dark eyes closing in on me.  
"I'm finishing up. Give me ten minutes," the anticipation of what he wants strong, the atmosphere tinged with sex.

* * *

Wiping up the counter, making notes on my paper I take a breath,"What are you thinking about?"

Leaning against the wall, he beckons me with both hands," Kiss me, and we'll see."  
" Wait a minute. I have to pee first."  
The bathrooms are down the hall; I open the door, hesitate and close it.  
"I'm afraid of going into the hall and making noise. What should I do?"  
James, straightening up, looks around and sees a bucket.

* * *

Later on, in my room, lying on my bed, I'm aroused again by the accidental occurrence of this nights happening.

* * *


	10. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two lovers are together again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domination, sex

Each day Frederick has sent messages to me.

* * *

_Come for dinner tonight_

* * *

_Stay the night with me_

_Say something. What can I do. What has happened?_

* * *

I don't reply to any of them.

I don't want to see him right now, for if I do, it would be to ask how to contact--him.

* * *

There was the ghost of, only he's not a ghost anymore, is he?  
A real-life, in the flesh person.  
Every time I think of him, and it's constant, I can't decide.  
Is it just the chance encounter or the thought of beginning again that disquiets me.  
Do I want to start over?  
Oh yes! Sherlock, you still do! With every ounce of you, you know you do!

* * *

A banging and knocking on my front door has me jumping up from my bed.  
It's late at night, and I can hear his voice.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, where the fuck are you?"

* * *

Putting my robe over my pajamas, I descend the stairs, looking around, and there he is.

Standing square in the middle of the sitting room.

* * *

"Mister Moriarty, what are you doing barging into my house?"  
In my fear, I'm gruff with him.  
"I waited for you to contact me. Thought you would."  
"You thought to come here in the middle of the night? For what reason?"  
"Couldn't get you out of my mind and finally just up and said the hell with it. And I don't feel I have to have an invitation."  
He's pacing, hands behind his back. Not giving me a look, or even a sideways glimpse.

"Mister Moriarty, you've stated quite plainly what you want from me. Is that what you expect tonight?"  
"Why not?" And what's with Mister Moriarty. Sherlock, my sweet. Why so formal?" his head tilted to one side, asking the question I can't answer because I'm both elated and petrified.

* * *

"Do you remember that first kiss between us?"  
I give out a little smile; the memory revisited.  
The wager between James and Phil. And, of course, my reaction to it!  
How could I forget! How could I ever not remember!

* * *

"How fantastic that you had taken it into your head to make the first move. You had my heart at that moment. It took me ages to get you to come around to me, though."

* * *

Reaching into his pocket and taking out a packet of cocaine. Holding it out to me.  
"Do you need this now?"

* * *

Nodding a no, I turn away, if only for a moment's breath. A moment to think.

* * *

A wide gap separates us now. Too much time and too much anger. I don't know what to do next.

* * *

Why am I even thinking about this? I should turn him down. Send him out. My heart pounding hard, my head dizzy with the conflicting emotions.

"If it's only sex you want--!"  
"Oh, shit. So that's all it means now? God damn, holy shit! We loved each other! Or was it just a 'hey, I'm a uni student and can fuck anyone I want!"

* * *

I've moved to the far end of the sitting room staring out the window, seeing nothing but his reflection. The body, the face I once--.  
Even turned away from him, his eyes bore into me.

* * *

" You couldn't keep your hands and cock away from my body. Come to think of it," a slight huff and laugh, " I couldn't get enough of you either."

His tone changes, whining, soft, "I still care Sherlock. After all these years I still do. So--?" 

He's walked close behind me and leans his head on my back.

* * *

My fists bang on the windowsill, and for some unknown reason, I'm outraged, "You want to fuck me? Here, make it hard," pulling his hand round to my front, to shove it inside my pants, "go ahead, show me how much you love me," growling, terror the driving force right now.

* * *

His hand pulls out rapidly as if my skin has burnt him. 

* * *

He spins me to face him, furious, "Why so bitter? Why not bitter towards that fucking, rat of a brother. It was he, he that--. Oh shit!" his head on my shoulder.

* * *

"Stop, stop" waving my hand at him, "why are we arguing?" I don't know, don't understand. What do we want from each other? "  
"That's what I'm trying to figure out, love. I'm totally unbalanced at seeing you. I'm half overjoyed and half troubled."  
"I understood. Both of us need time, I think."

* * *

Sighing, walking away from the window, I find a glass, fill it with a dash of whiskey.  
Up close to him, my mouth against his, kissing, blowing the liquid into his open mouth.  
Swallowing, "Oh damn, you remember the way we played like this, " closing in for another kiss.  
"James, I remember everything, every tick of the clock. I replay it all the time.

* * *

James, that quirky smile, leans back, his hand tipping the glass in mine, and takes a sip. He repeats my action, licking my lips, biting my lower lip.  
We shuffle backward, our breaths elevated, hesitant where to take this now.

* * *

"To your bedroom. Let me have my Sherlock again. Let me love you, please," pleading, begging.  


There's now no resistance, nothing left in me.

* * *

Tearing at each other's clothes, fingers sliding over skin, James stops at the foot of the bed.  
Plants me in front of him, legs spread, cock at attention, breath fast, shallow.  
He leans against the board, glances from under his dark lashes. Those dark, dark eyes and long lashes have held in my dreams so long. And now he's here; he's here!

* * *

" I have to have you. You're beautiful Sherlock, come to my arms."  
I'm on fire. Hotness fires into my veins, coursing, filling me.

My chest collides with his, our mouths tangling, tongues flinging in and out, lips biting, sucking, making our breathing audible to anyone in the near vicinity.

* * *

"Yes, you, all of you in my arms, like before," his fingernails raking down my chest.

* * *

There's a magnetic something, an animalistic base to him. He leaves nothing of himself out. And, once again it's all there for me.

* * *

His fingers wrap into my hair, tugging at my curls, enveloping me, squeezing so close, taking the breath out of my chest.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, oh, want this, give me yourself," he mutters.  
"On the bed and lie on your back," finding my voice, if a little strained.

* * *

In almost every encounter James takes the lead, but now he responds to me, not questioning.

It takes my breath away. Emotion flows from me, so strong, so wicked in its intent.  
I want to fuck him. To suck his dick. Make him scream for more.

* * *

I move onto the bed, my tongue lashing at those bits of pubic hair, blowing my breath to watch the drops of my spit glitter and see him visibly twitch.  
His fingers again tangle into my curls, his body arching up to me.  
"James, I'm going to suck you off, so hard you'll never get it up again."  
"No, no, no! Oh yes, anything, anything. I need you."  
" You'll do anything to have me won't you, James?"  
"Yes, yes, Yes! Do it. I'm all yours."  
"Ask me what I desire from you?" blowing another breath into his short black curls.  
"What, what, oh, stop talking. Put that, shit--," blowing hot wind onto his cock," put that mouth where--, "breathing fast.

I imagine I can make him come without touching him at all.

"A very slow blowjob," my breath on his balls," And your love."  
"Umm, fucking, umm," all he can utter now.  
He's under me, shivering his need.  
"Fuck you," raising up, rotating us, his body on top, his hands pinning my shoulders to the sheet, his hips rotating, gyrating. 

Our cocks touching, pre-come leaking.  


Humming, groaning. Is it me or him or the both of us?

Gritting my teeth, I push up, my breath flutters, and I spill, yelling out.  
Within seconds his hips stop quivering.  
He grunts, and I feel his sticky substance on my stomach.

* * *

James rolls off of me, sighing.

* * *

If I could think straight what would I ask? Where have you been all this time? Why haven't you looked for me? Nothing passes my lips, too afraid of the explanations.

* * *

"Why are you staring at the ceiling like that? Do you regret what happened just now?" turning onto his side, staring at me.

"I can't grasp that you're here. I'm afraid to shift my head because I won't see you anymore. You've been so much a part of my dreams."  
"In that case, I'll have to prove you wrong. Can I stay the night?"  
"Do you even need to ask that question? Of course", on my side, my fingers stroke his arm."  
"I thought you might have found another," kissing my fingers," stopping to look at me," like the Earl."

I detect a certain amount of disapproval. So he's still possessive! And asking him if he's had anyone since would be opening up a box I don't care to examine.

* * *

"Now that you've stepped back into my life all others are forgotten."

* * *

Sometime during the early night, I feel a moist tongue on my soft cock, waking me.  
I raise my head to see Jim stretched out between my legs, bathing my cock.  
"James--,"  
"Do you recall our little games? All of them?" a stroke of his tongue.  
"Yes, yes, but wait-"  
"Wait? Wait? It's been five years. I'm not holding back now that I've got you here," tongue laving, bringing my cock to its full height.

Even in the pale light in the room, I can see those dark eyes twinkling, dark, dark eyes.

* * *

"You're going to get hard and then service me. And, if you do well, I'll let you come, maybe on your body, maybe into my mouth. You'll do as I say or suffer. Are you ready for me?" his voice taking control.  
" You're assuming too much now, James! It's too soon. This is our first night since--."  
"Listen to you! Shit and damn, I love this," moving up the bed, straddling my shoulders, his stiff cock in his hand wriggling it in my face.

* * *

Our game begins. I love when he dominates, dirty talk and all.

* * *

I turn my head to one side, avoiding his shaft, his fingers tighten around my jaw, forcing my face around.

A slap to my cheek, which brings me to meet those eyes, those dark, dark eyes.  
"Look at my dong. See how it waits for you? Take my baby in your mouth."  


Biting my lips, my fists tighten around the pillow. A portion of me is screaming to choke him, but-- a more significant part of me is screaming for him to rule over me.

"Oh come on Sherlock, you're just as worked up as I am. Bet you never had anyone force themselves on you since me. Namby-Pambys the lot of them."  
"Here, baby, take it in your mouth, run your tongue over my shaft, stick it in there." 

He palms my jaw down, forcing my mouth to open and stuffs his rod in.  


I choke, gagging. I try to throw him off me; my arms are held, pinned against the sheet by his knees, pressing me hard into the mattress.

"Go ahead, bitch, whore, fight me, fight."  
He's up over my face, holding my mouth wide with one hand and the other driving his cock deep, his balls bouncing on my jaw.  
"Come on, baby, eat it. Take care of me."  
I hear sounds emanating from his ass. No, he wouldn't, would he?  
Giggling,"don't worry. I'm not going to shit on you. But if you don't behave---"  
"Oh god, no, not yet, too soon, too--," his hips shaking, he spurts out in force.

Choking, gagging, the liquid runs into my throat. I can't contain it all, my tongue spits it out, dribbling onto my lips and chin.

* * *

Sliding off the bed, his legs give way, he stumbles, regains himself.

"Now get yourself off, " tossing a tube of lube on the pillow, he wiggles his ass and heads to the bathroom.

* * *

What in hell? That remark, that coldness. Why does he do this to me, even now? I have to stop to remember that this is James.

* * *

I don't need the lube, my member flat. I throw the tube across the room, hitting the bathroom door.

* * *

I hear the shower, and I'm left lying on the bed, sweaty, sticky.

Afraid to climb into the shower with him. I lay here.

* * *

Why? What he does to my psyche.  
How he turns my inner self-upside down. How he muddles my thinking. I'm spellbound by him.

He also has an unscrupulous, scheming, coldness that can tear you apart.

* * *

He struts in, naked, a Cheshire cat grin, and with great innocence," Oh, did I forget you? How callous of me!"

"Right now, James Moriarty, I want you to leave! To leave and never come back!"

* * *

He struts around, sits on the bed, entangling his fingers in my hair, pulling it, whispering in my ear,"Come on baby. Like old times. With me."  
Kisses on my ear, "baby, mine," whispering, coaxing, "let me soothe you." His kisses extend to my forehead, my hair.

* * *

"Will you suckle me, please?" giving in.  
"Does my baby have to have it? From me?"  
"Yes," the quietness of my voice belies the lust building up.  
"Are you giving your man your body?"  
" You've always had my body."

Sprawled between my thighs, his fingers, mouth, tongue play until my hips rise, shaking, spilling out my seed into his open mouth.

* * *

Dozens of kisses, soft, tender and, let's get some sleep, my darling.

* * *

A loud clap of thunder and the pounding of rain is what wakes me up this morning.

* * *

Stretching out to find no one next to me in the bed, I'm startled. Was last night a dream?

I hear pots clanking, he's in the kitchen. Could he be making breakfast?

Finding a shirt, pants, and my dressing gown, I sit on the toilet and consider possibilities before James returned.

* * *

The Earl and I can never be more than occasional sex partners. Doctor Watson, whom I felt some connection to, apparently is not interested in me.

* * *

There has been nothing before them. I lost all interest in liaisons after being brutally torn from James.

* * *

Why not toss all aside? Why not follow this man? Again.

Mycroft can have nothing to say about it this time. I'm an adult. On my own.

* * *

Sherlock, go ahead. Be daring. Be impulsive! Do something totally unexpected.

* * *

I smell coffee and bacon, and James is finishing up on the eggs as I walk in. What a surprise!

* * *

"My darling, I was going to coax you awake. Breakfast is waiting, my wonderful man."  


We kiss, humming our satisfaction and sit at the table.

* * *

"Hmm, you look like the cat who caught the mouse? What's up, Mister Holmes?"  
"I have a deal to make. Would you like to join me in America for about four months? I've been working with a detective agency, and they need information from over the pond. And when I'm not in a stuffy office, we can be together. I have the house of a friend to use. It's in the middle of New York City. What do you say?"

* * *

I've thought about asking James where his money is coming from now but, for some reason, I drop that line of questioning. Some things about James Moriarty I would rather not know.

* * *

Like a little child, he plops on my lap, kissing my cheeks, my lips, laughing, the little boy in him showing up.

* * *

"Yes, why not. I can arrange to do some transactions there. Might pick up a few more clients."

* * *


	11. Farewells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saying goodbye to The Earl at a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some brief sex but not explicit

Before sailing to New York with James, I receive an invitation to attend another fan party at the Earls house.

* * *

_'I will be in the room with you. I need to see you, to talk.'_

* * *

I respond that I would love to come and could I invite a friend.  


_'I am surprised. but yes.'_

* * *

Showing the invite to James he's bewildered.  
          "Why would you want to go? You told me you don't like these affairs?"  
His eyes narrow in the way that tells me his anxiety is on alert.

* * *

"No, not going to screw the Earl, if that's you're thinking. Want to say goodbye, and my darling," kissing him, "to show you off."  
Reluctantly, "oh all right. But I'm not letting you out of my sight, Get that?"

* * *

The morning of the party, Jim is sitting in his armchair, a newspaper, and coffee on the table.

" I don't want us to go tonight," casually.  
"Why not?" Taking up a piece of the newspaper, opening it up, hiding my anxiety.  
"You'll be tempted to be with him."  
"James," having to leave the room so he can't see how distressed I am.

* * *

"I will spend time with him in his library, and that's all," yelling in from the kitchen.  
"Door closed, I suppose?" he hollers back.  
"James, you have nothing to worry about for this evening. I will leave the door open if it makes you feel better. You can even join us for a drink." poking my head out to speak calmly.  
"After you shag him?" his irritation visible.

Walking back into the sitting room my teacup with me, " I thought this conversation was over. I honestly believed you knew that you are my only one now."  
"If you insist on going, then I have the right to partner with someone else," his head hidden by the paper.

* * *

My teacup slams on the table, the liquid spilling over.

I snatch the paper, tearing it, "You cannot! I said I was not going to have sex with the Earl. Why would you even--?"  
Looking up, those eyes dark, innocent, "It's my body, and I'll-."  
"No, it's our body. And you will not."

* * *

Back and forth we argue, and as we do the words become meaner, louder.

* * *

"Your fucking brother--."  
"Yes, my brother, always my brother. If I was so important to you why didn't you seek me out? You were having fun sucking other cocks weren't you?"  
Completely surprised at what popped out of my mouth, for bringing that up, in that way. Hoping for no reprisal.

* * *

"And I suppose good old Earl--."  
"Don't, don't---," holding my tongue.

* * *

We argue more, yell more, until I leave in a huff, walking the streets for a bit.

* * *

Back inside my flat, he jumps up from his chair, a hangdog expression, one of utter charm.

Before he can speak I say," James, I'm sorry. We've never committed to one another. I don't like it, but if it's how you feel then--."  
" Well, that's a surprise change of heart! It depends on who is in the room, Sherlock. I might not desire any of them."  
"If you must, please not in front of me," having to hold back a choke.  
"Would you want--, no nevermind."  
" Would I what? Spit it out."  
"I was going to suggest a threesome or even a foursome--"  
" Absolutely not! I'm going to my room to dress," walking to my room before uttering another word. He yells, "While you were out I went home and brought clothes over here. I'll dress in a minute."

* * *

I dress in my favorite tight black pants, a purple shirt, black vest and a white coat with gold buttons on it.

* * *

"You look ravishing," he steps around me, assessing, takes my hand, bowing over it and kisses my palm. My breath lets out.

* * *

Our mood, leaving the house is much brighter.

* * *

Shock registers on Frederick's face when he sees who my companion is. He's not able to hide it at all.

" Excuse me a second, Mister Moriarty, I need to discuss a matter with Sherlock."

James waves us off and enters the parlor. I can see by his glance to both of us that he knows what is going to be said.

"I thought--?"  
" All that has changed, and I am sailing next week with him to New York. No questions asked, please."  
"No, I think I deserve some clarification, don't you?"

Staring at the floor, I raise my head, not ashamed by my choice.

My arm links around Fredericks' shoulder to calm him, "James and I were in love years ago. Mycroft cut it off. It's a long story, but we still love each other."  
"Can I ask why you were terrified when you first met him here?"  
" Shock. The younger me thinking Mycroft would find out and wrestle him away as he did years ago. But he can't do that now."  
"Well, congratulations are in order--I guess. Why are you attending this tonight?"  
"Mainly to say goodbye to you."  
"I don't need you to flaunt him to my face, Sherlock," turning on his heel and marching over to an older man.

* * *

What the hell did I do? I upset him!  
Should I go to him right now?  
No, he's in conversation with the gentleman.  
I'll find a good time and explain.

* * *

I recognize a man who's been staring at me. Scraggly brown hair, shoulders length but tied with a ribbon in the back. He was at the last party. He moves across the room, his eyes directed at me.  
Fan held down closed (your ass looks tempting)  
It should be, wearing these pants, I jokingly think to myself.

I become nervous when his fan is down, open at waist level ( I want to touch your crotch)

I look for Frederick or James, and find James across the room, a mans hand into his trousers.

So easy for him, so hard for me.

* * *

Partially envious of his carefree ways and partially unforgiving of his needing more than me, I feel a tap on the shoulder, and scraggly brown-hair man is staring, his fan held open waving quickly (can I unbutton your trousers )  
I can't continue and give the excuse of needing the bathroom, walking away.

* * *

Frederick is leaning against the entrance door, taking it all in, not participating.  
"Still not good, is it? Public exhibitionism will never be for you. Curious about this James fellow. You're really in love with this man?"  
I can see the disappointment and concern.

"Yes, Frederick, god yes."  
"Rather a hasty move, isn't it? Going together on a trip to America."  
"I don't have the same issue you have, Frederick, about traveling with a man."  
His attitude is beginning to annoy me. He has no rights over me.

"You sound as if you don't like him," sullen.  
"There's something-something I can't wrap my head around. Maybe you should wait before jumping--."  
"Is that the green-eyed monster who's talking?"  
"Now that's unkind of you,"straightening up, he takes a step away from me.  
"Sorry, so sorry. I know he has faults. Don't we all. But--."  
" Yes, you're right to be upset with me. We never committed to each other, never thought to. Remember this, my dear man. I will always be here for you." his fingers entangling with mine.

* * *

"Tickets have been purchased. And if things go bad, I can always come back, and it's a few months only."

I jump when an arm goes around my waist and move my head around to see James. How long has he been behind me? How much did he hear?

" Are we ready to leave, my darling?" a cursory nod to Frederick.  
"Frederick, thanks for everything. I'll see you when we come back," leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek.  
"Take care and have a good trip, both of you," not returning my slight affection.

* * *

"Good friend of yours, you say," once outside, the sharpness cutting.  
"Yes, James, a real gentleman and he has been kind to me."  
James harumphs and holds onto my arm and while waiting for my carriage to appear, snuggles in close.

* * *

"I have things to do tomorrow. Why don't I come to your flat tomorrow afternoon?"

* * *

After a passionate meeting at the door, clothes off and ending with us on the floor, "Sherlock," he replies as we shower together," why do we need two places?"  
"It wouldn't matter to me where we live, my heart, as long as we're together."

"My house is small but has two bedrooms. It's within an easy trip to central London. How does that suit you? And it will fit all your books," laughing, toweling off, settling on the sofa, no clothes on.

          "I love the idea," leaning over to place tiny pecks on his neck.  
"Good. Even better. Instead of paying rent while we're away why not move your possessions into my place now."

* * *

I leave my flat and have everything packed in boxes brought to James' house, to be taken care of after our trip.

* * *


	12. A Word of Advice-Unwanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gives Sherlock his thoughts. Sherlock not happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a very short chapter

The day before departure, as I knew it would happen, a note appears from my brother.

* * *

_Be at my house in an hour. No excuses._

* * *

Out of courtesy, I go to him, stepping into Mycroft's parlor, my intent not to argue.

* * *

" You are a damn fool to expect that man to treat you with respect," the first words spoken by him. No greeting.  
"It's my decision. We love each other, and you cannot separate us this time around."  
He grimaces,"Love. That man doesn't--."

Anger spits from me," Mycroft, stop! You have no right to judge whom I care about. You and your little queer--."  
"That's enough, brother of mine! At least I don't flaunt it as you are about to do," the controlled, tight voice. Always keeping himself in charge.

"We are two businessmen traveling. And, as I'm sure you have already checked, two staterooms."

* * *

He won't condescend to peer up at me as he sits, legs crossed, his cane being the object of his gaze.

* * *

" I'll be keeping watch on you. I have agents in New York--."  
"Mycroft, I -can- take care- of myself," sounding off louder and louder, teeth clenched.  
" But will he? Do you understand that his occupation is of a dubious nature? I've been tracking--," stating, an octave louder than before.

* * *

Slamming a book down on his desk that I had casually picked up, "Stop this! You are purposely looking for obstacles,"shouting, my voice piercingly loud, "leave him alone. Let me be happy for once," choking back my resentment.

* * *

John appears in the doorway,"what's the shouting about? The whole house can hear you."  
"My--brother,"spitting that out, "is being his pernicious self. Tending to try to run, no ruin my life- again."

Meantime Mycroft is at his desk, pushing papers, seemingly ignoring both of us.

* * *

"Someone has stepped into my life again, someone I adore, and Mycroft disapproves of," I explain, trying to be gracious to John. 

After all, it's not his fault, not his problem. Why be upset with him?

* * *

"I have to travel to American and this man, James, is coming with me."  
"As your lover, not your business companion."  
Mycroft still trying to play the hurt one.

* * *

" I congratulate you," Mycroft grunting, "and I hope this trip is fruitful both in business and pleasure."

* * *

" I'm disappointed that we won't see you for a while," John, the calm one in this room is trying his best to diffuse the situation.

"Why, disappointed? You have my brother to take care of your every need," sarcastically saying, not thinking, not caring who I hurt.

* * *

John heads for the door, walking away, "Goodbye Sherlock, have a fantastic time," just as acerbic as I.  
"No, wait a minute John," I grab his arm,"I didn't mean that!"  
John stops, turns to face me, body wavering towards me, then puts his hand out for a handshake.  
"Good luck, Sherlock. See you when you get home."  
" Bye John, take good care of yourself," as he leaves the room.

* * *

I want, for some reason, to call him back. To try to make him understand. But-- I don't. It would serve no purpose.

* * *

"Wholely uncalled for Sherlock," Mycroft still refuses to look up at me.  
"So are your remarks," and without another word to him, I walk out.

* * *


	13. In America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Sherlock are in their house in New York City.

Our accommodations on the steamship are adequate. Our staterooms are across the hall from each other. Identical in every way with a sitting room, two armchairs, a small side table and desk, a bedroom with a wardrobe and a sliding door behind which is a toilet sink and tub.

* * *

The communal dining room is sparsely decorated, but the meals are well made.

* * *

James and I take advantage of the calm sea to sit outside on the deck most days.

Always very outgoing, James has made quick friends and joined a five card stud card game. He plays every evening well into the late hours.

I'm perfectly happy walking the deck at night, watching the sailors at work and admiring the stars. Our time together at night is limited, and I'm not pleased but stay quiet about it.

* * *

Our last day on board we journey up the Hudson River.

Standing on the deck with the other passengers admiring and in awe of the Statue of Liberty, there's a drizzle of rain.

* * *

" I can't imagine living in such a new country! Such things they have to learn."  
"Yes, but think about it, James, it's open to any interpretation they wish. I think it's very refreshing."  
"If you like foreigners all around you. Ugh!"

* * *

A taxi ride up to the house with both our heads sticking out the windows taking in the view.

* * *

The house is stocky looking, stuck tightly between two others built in the same manner. An excellent feature is where it's located, right across from Central Park.

* * *

Walking through the residence we have a kitchen, dining room and parlor.  
Upstairs is three bedrooms and two baths.  
Fully furnished of course with the owners' accouterments. Cumbersome ornate pieces.  
The servants quarters are on the third floor.

There is a cook and two servants, one of which doubles as a butler and our carriage driver.

* * *

Our cook is excellent! Oyster soup, a roasted chicken, baked potato with a cream sauce and mixed vegetables and a cobb salad. Followed by a strong coffee and apple pie.

* * *

"What do you think about us sharing a bedroom?" I ask James, patting his stomach, gorged from the meal.  
"Dearest, the servants won't breathe a word. They'll chat amongst themselves as you know, but will be mum to their employees."

* * *

In the parlor, after dinner, I've found a book about the history of New York and peruse it with the intention of digging into it later.  
James has the New York Journal newspaper in hand.

* * *

I'm up at ten, showering and dressing while James is still in bed, surprised when he turned his back to me last night and fell right asleep.

* * *

"Hey lazy, what's on your agenda today?" leaning over to put my shoes on.  
"If I had my way we'd spend it fucking each other all day. But--I have to be up and out by noon. I have an appointment with a potential client at a posh restaurant. Don't know how long I'll be."  
"I guess you made these arrangements while still in England?"  
"Yes. As soon as I knew we were coming here, I thought,' why not see what I can do in the States."  
"I'll be at the New York police station downtown, introducing myself and going through some of their files. Meet for dinner here at seven?"  
"Does dinner include dessert?" eyebrows dancing up and down, sitting up in bed, peek-a-booing his sheet, so I get a glimpse of his penis, half-staff.  
" I swear. That's all that's on your mind," swatting him across his bare chest.  
" Aha, got you! I meant ice cream or cake," his grin suggesting otherwise.  
" Make it ice cream on your cock and see how you like it."  
"Oh, a challenge! I shall make that a first on our list tonight." 

Leaning down to kiss him he tumbles me onto the bed, capturing my crouch in his hand.  
"James, stop. You'll wrinkle me, I mean my suit," pulling up and away. 

His laughter can be heard while I head downstairs, supremely happy.

* * *

I arrive home and out James' name. He doesn't answer.  
Brydon, our butler, tells me he's upstairs in the bedroom.

That's strange! I hope he's feeling all right.

* * *

Removing my coat and shoes I climb the stairs and open the bedroom door.

" James, what in hell--?"  
He's in bed, no clothes on, lying on his back.

* * *

"The ice cream challenge."  
"Before dinner, I'm already assuming."  
"Off with your clothes. On the chair is an apron from the kitchen. Put it on. You're my ice cream server."

* * *

Walking into the bathroom with the apron, there's a small bowl of vanilla ice cream and a spoon.

Undressing, tying the cords of the apron around my back, the bowl in hand, I walk to the bedroom.

"Ding, dong, the ice cream man is here. Get your old-fashioned ice cream," barking out the words.

His cock, and mine, for that matter, at full staff.

* * *

"Where do you want your ice cream sir?"  
" Where it will do the most good. On my flaming cock."  
Sitting next to him, cross-legged, I drop a large dollop of the cold cream on and around that big shaft.  
And immediately, I say," oh, oh, look at that!" as he hisses out and wriggles his hips.

"Your cock is limp," staring at the now tiny prick and the almost non-existent balls.

"Get it off me," hissing," it hurts, get it off."  
The edges of the sheet provide a perfect wipe off for him.

* * *

Collapsing next to him, James starts to laugh, and I also laugh.

"Wow! Guess that's not a good idea, huh, Sherlock?"  
"No, cold does shrink a cock. Let's go get dinner."

* * *

We've dressed, sitting and eating and James looks discontented.  
"What do you want?"  
" Unbutton your flies and let your dick hang out."  
I'm good with that because the tablecloth will hide it from the servant moving about.

He's done the same, and with that ridiculous grin he has on him at moments like this we try to continue eating.

Halfway through our main course, James sends the servant out of the room.

"Hmm, a nice sauce is needed for this steak, don't you think so Sherlock?"

Standing, placing the plate on the floor, he motions for me stand.

"Pump me."  
I fist his cock, hard and fast.  
"Yes, yes, gooood!" directing his sperm onto his red steak.

" Eat it," he says, as the energy drains out of him, and he slumps down.

I take a few bites, tasting more of the steak than his come.  
He laughs, picks up the plate, plants it on the table, and gives me a hand up.

"Get yourself together and let's sit in the parlor."  
" Can I finish eating?"  
" No, that's enough."

* * *

In the parlor I sit in my chair while watching James pace back and forth, and closes the door.

"Take out your prick and do yourself. I'll watch," sitting across from me.

* * *

Those dark, dark eyes bore into me, sending shivers through to my cock. How easy it is to come when he directs that gaze, focuses only on me.

* * *

This trip has been an absolute dream! I pinch myself all the time. My love is with me.  
We've had a wondrous ship crossing, and this house is perfect for our stay in New York.

Not an argument has crossed our lips since leaving England.

* * *

Our first two days I'm up early taking breakfast and departing for the agency or the police station, returning in time for dinner.

* * *

James lounges in, also home for dinner.

* * *

James is his silly self at the dinner table, spoon feeding me, or putting food onto his finger and having me suck it off.

* * *

"What is the matter? Why the 'can't sit still' antics? Do you want something? Like sex?" I ask.  
"Maybe I want something special! Something different, Sherlock."  
"Like what?" "Are you free at all this Sunday?" taking a bite of his cherry pie, dipping his finger in and smearing the syrup on my lips.  
"Umm, good," licking it off. 

He keeps feeding me, kissing and licking my syrup covered lips.

* * *

"Sunday is open for me. And what would that brain be cooking up?"  
Leering, leaning in for a kiss," a sex day. Send the servants packing and sex, sex all day. Anyplace in the house."

I like the idea. We haven't had much time for play while here. And it leaves the house wide open for our use.

* * *

"Great!" I very enthusiastically say. The idea sends shivers up my spine. 

"No liquor, no drugs, just us high on orgasms," rising to stand behind my chair, nibbling on my ear, "I'm going to save all my spunk for Sunday. No fair masturbating until then, got that?"  
          "Can't even have even a tiny bit tonight?"  
Stepping away, taking out his pocket watch, pretending to think hard about this idea,"Hmm, it's Thursday, hmmm. No, guess you'll have to hold it in."

* * *

He runs away as I throw a fork and spoon at him, both of us giggling.

* * *


	14. Sunday-The First Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first game they play on Sunday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, this is the pee game. Lots of peeing.

I'm awake with a start. 

Oh yes, it's that Sunday!

And how do I know?

There's a finger poking at my ass hole, and James's breath in my ear," Wakey, wakey, time for sex."

" James, give me a chance to-- oh," his finger in just so slightly. Enough that I wiggle towards him.

"Stop, stop. wait, I need to pee," pulling away from the insistent digit.

Leaning up on one elbow his excitement is palpable.

* * *

" Oh Sherlock, don't go to the bathroom. Do you recall that night in the lab? You thought that it would be a safe place to meet. And you had to pee, but didn't want to run out into the hall to the lav."  
" Oh god, yes." It had never left my memory. A strange but so different night.  
"I was scared to leave the laboratory. Someone might see me. But, wasn't I high on cocaine at the time?"  
"No, it was heroin, and we both only had a bit. Not enough to juggle our brains. Come on," getting out of bed, his hand in mine dragging me out also.

"What? Where are we going?" Down the steps, barefoot and bare-assed.

* * *

In the kitchen, he spies a bucket sitting by the back door and taking out the mop, he places the metal bucket on the floor next to me.  
"Let's recreate that night."  
"James, we were both high--."  
"Come on, don't need the drugs. Do it. For me?" those dark, sparkling eyes begging.

I'm leaning with my back against the table, hands gripping the edge.

* * *

" I seem to recall pissing into a pot you had found, but not too much else."  
"Tell you what. We'll make it up as we go along. But I do recollect quite a lot of it."  
"This is nonsense. It was- I don't know-- so-," both the thrill and the aversion warring within me.

* * *

"Go ahead and let loose, my love. Let me watch it." 

Letting loose means my light yellow stream of piss hits the bucket, sizzling, hissing.

"I held your penis in my hand, like this,"wrapping his hand around," as you pissed."  
"Dear God, I like you doing this! The sensation! I'm going to- if you don't let go."  
"Can't come while peeing. You're shivering; you like me hugging your penis while you pee?"  
"Yes, fucking yes."

It begins to dribble out, seeping not running, and his cupped hand catches the fluid and wipes it on my penis.

"I think I know what happened next. But not sure I want to do it now."  
"Oh, my sweet love, you were so wicked back then! And it was amazing! You have to."

* * *

Pushing me and the bucket aside he leans against the table.

" You didn't need any prompting then. It was all your idea."  
"Did I come that night? I don't remember much of it. "  
" Yes, we both had pissed on our dicks."

* * *

The bucket with my warm yellow liquid is now between my lovers' legs, and taking my hand, he wraps it around his penis. 

I feel his cock pumping out the liquid, and I'm shaking; it's overwhelming. 

Watching the tiny hole spurt it's seemingly non-ending torrent and listening to his grunt brings a flood tide of electrical sparks over my body.

* * *

"Now," his piss stopping," put your hands in that bucket and spill it over me."  
" Did I actually--?"  
"Oh for god's sake, does it matter what you did five years ago?"

If I stop, I anger him. Besides, this is as erotic to me as it is to him. 

* * *

Dropping to my knees, both hands dip into the yellow piss, and cupping a portion, I drizzle it over James' cock and balls. Soaking him.

Both hands dip back into the yellow piss,"Yes, yes yes, you cocksucker, you animal you. Put more on me. My bush also," with that wispy sound he makes when he's aroused.  
"I don't remember--."  
" Do I have to push your face in it?" snarling. 

* * *

I know better than to cross James when he barks at me. He whimpers while I drip the urine into his tight little pubic curls.

* * *

"You're like a dog, lapping up your own piss. You'll do anything to get your high, won't you?" 

Dipping my right hand back into the bucket I coat him again.  


He moans in response, his cock jumping while I sprinkle him.  


James' hand strokes my cheek," Come on, swallow me. Taste it on your tongue. Nibble me," panting, his pre-come erupting and mingling with the pee.

My tongue plays over his hair and cock.  
Sickened with the flavor, I gag once, twice, spitting out into the bucket.  
"You crave my piss. Tell me how much you enjoy it. Taste me again."  
" James, I--"  
"Come on, say it."  
"I can't, " shivering with distaste.  
" No, no, say it dirty," gasping.  
" Piss is fucking good when I taste it on your cock and balls."  
He places his cock in his hand and squirts a little more piss, but this time on my chest and face.

" Ohhh, ohh! Wet me again," smearing it on my body, dipping my fingers in the pail, sucking them, a low, almost a faint voice, followed by grunts and groans. 

Another handful of pee from the pail, another wetting him.  


This time his cock goes entirely in my mouth, with me twisting, bobbing, and my tongue rolling. 

His body tenses, while my hands caress his balls. He stiffens, his legs, his stomach, all working up to his explosion.  
His hands clench the table edge, white-knuckled.

It happens fast, his throbbing cock lets out an explosion of come, deep into my throat. Choking as it spews I take it all in, swallowing the liquid.

His body loosens like a marionette, falling limply to the floor.

* * *

I cradle his head in my arms and wait. Wait for his praise.

* * *

"Shit in hell! That was--." I've never done that with anyone else."  
"Don't expect you got any of this from your Earl, did you?" 

I choose not to say anything.

* * *

" And you're the only one that has tasted my pee," his eyes still glowing. 

* * *

I'm not sure I believe that last remark. Standing, legs wobbly, he looks fondly at me, gives me a hand up,"lets shower."

* * *

In the shower, my hand strays down to--.  
" No, no touching yourself until I say so."

* * *

" Oh, oh got an idea! Next time we play at peeing I want to see you do it in your trousers. I'll probably jerk off watching you." 

" Whatever and whenever. I'm yours."

Into the bedroom, I'm not sure what to do. James is very mellow, "Put on only your drawers, and let's stay like this."

* * *


	15. Sunday-The Second Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second game is all James' Idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This involves something that most men do not like. Teeth scraping on a penis

Bacon is sizzling, eggs and muffins done, we sit in the kitchen and eat. 

* * *

My eyes devour him, taken by him, fascinated.  
He's here, and why he stays with me, why he loves me, I can't fathom.

* * *

I'll do anything he asks, go where he wants. Now that he's back with me I don't like him out of my sight.

* * *

There's nothing erotic about being clothed only in our drawers. It's the anticipation of what is to come that makes this game titillating.

* * *

"Let's have our dicks peeking out our flies. We can touch. Even lick. But no getting hard. Got that?" taking his prick out, flaccid but so delectable!

* * *

The sport in this is how often we manage to pass each other and touch.  
"Got you," his hand going round to barely touch my cock, as I'm washing the dishes.

"Here, take this," one finger sliding up his member while I give him his newspaper.  
" Sorry, didn't mean to drop---," on his knees, his tongue licking up a stripe, a book purposely dropped.

* * *

By late afternoon I'm erect, my cock pulsing, and I try to hide it by sitting and planting the newspaper on my lap, pretending to read.

* * *

" Hard aren't you? Show me that pink beauty."  
I throw the paper to the floor, exasperated. He knows I need a release. 

* * *

He casually walks to me, taking his time, showing me who's the dominant one.

" Put that thing back in your drawers," my upright shaft vibrating, wanting a touch.  
" Put it back in. Don't want to see it until I'm ready. Getting too restless, aren't you? Need something to occupy that tiny brain of yours? On the floor, dog!"

I know when he abuses me with his words that it sets him off. He gets wired and aroused from it. 

* * *

Sitting in the chair I had just occupied, he throws his drawers off, slouches, his thighs open wide.

I kneel between them, waiting for his command.

* * *

" One day," his fingers curling around my hair, pulling it slightly, "a friend taught me a new trick. Something that most men would not find pleasing. For the most part, they probably would be frightened at the idea."  
A friend? He thinks of his fucks as friends?

* * *

" I was petrified when he started. But, shit, it was electrifying. And now you'll learn to do it for me."

His fingers slide to my lips, his thumb curling my lower lip over, a finger poking in to feel my teeth.

" I want you to perform this trick. Exactly how I tell you. Do you understand? Exactly!"  
Sucking his finger in,"Mmm, yesh," his finger preventing me from forming the word.  
" Put your mouth on my cock as usual. Bring it to full erection."  
His cock, precome leaking out I slobber on it, the slickness making it easy to enter in my mouth.

His balls are my first to feel my spit, wetting them until they drip. My hands have one in each palm, twirling them around.

He's holding his breath, letting it out in big huffs.

* * *

"Stop. Move away from my dick."  
"Listen to what I say. Your mouth will go as far down as you can."  
His hands are on both sides of my face, cupping my cheeks, lifting my face to look into his eyes. Those dark, dark eyes.

* * *

" I want your teeth to scrape along the skin of my, oh god, just thinking of this-," the breath hissing out of him," my cock."  
" That could injure you, and I don't want--."  
"Do as I say, you sniveling piece of shit. Go down without teeth and up with them on."  
Pushing my head back to his already pulsing cock I go down on him.  
Pulling up, sucking my cheeks in, my teeth graze the skin, his voice keens, howls.

I immediately take my mouth off, anxious, fearful

"You fucker, how dare you stop!"  
"I thought I was harming you--," his fingers dig into my hair.  
My head goes back down on his cock.  
Bringing my mouth up with my teeth scraping over his skin.  
Continuing this movement, he howls, moans.  
I'm so afraid that I might take it too far.  
On the last upper movement, he yells, "Bite my tip, bite it you, idiot!"  
Nipping at his glan, that pink tip, I give tiny pinches, as he jitters his hips with each nip.  
His body rises, stiffens, his stomach heaves.  
"Stooop biting, nooowwww. "

I relax my mouth, his release spasms, spasms again and again.  
I can't contain all of him and let it run down my lips and onto my neck. 

* * *

Sitting back on my haunches I wait.

* * *

After a few minutes, his eyes open to see me.

* * *

"It was good?" 

He sits up; his finger lifts his come off my neck and wipes it off on my lips.

"My beautiful one. My wonderful, sweet one," licking my lips, my neck. He's all tenderness now.

* * *

"Can I, may I, get up?"  
"My wonderful baby, my sweet love. Who could ask for a better companion than you?" all the while his fingers play around my cheeks, my neck.

"That is one of my favorite sucks. The pleasure is indescribable. Pain and pleasure. If you want, only if you ask I will perform that on you."  
"I've always heard most men would find that excruciating. If you like it, that's fine. But I don't think I'd ever want that done to me."

" Cross me and I'll damn well skin your fucking cock with my teeth," running a finger along my lips.  
"But that will never happen, right? My baby will be submissive. Be all mine."

" All yours. What do you want next?"

" Well, for being so wonderful, take off your pants, get yourself hard, but stop before you let it out. I'm going to watch you."  
"Anything, anything. But--,"  
"You did so well. The next time I'm hard, I'll wait. You can have it anyplace you want. To get yourself off. Let's think about how I can reward you. Sit here."

" For now, let's see you masturbate."

My turn on the chair, drawers off, my hands play over my genitals.  
His eyes shine with amusement, "Yes, baby, yes, let me see your hand stroke your cock. Excercise it. Beat that pink dick up."  
"Your balls are soft, play and harden them."

I can't take my eyes off him. His face, his eyes. Those dark, dark eyes.

* * *

Your hand isn't fast enough on your tiny dick. Even erect it's so, so small. A wee one," watching, hearing me blow breaths.

Faster, faster. No, slow it down now. I see your pre-come leaking out. Wipe it on your face."  
"Let me come for you. Shoot it out. Show you how I love you," fisting hard and fast, breath exploding.  
"Absolutely not! Don't be naughty and wank off. Stop this instant!"  
My hand releases my cock, slumping down into the seat. Breath slowing.  
"James, please let me-."  
" No, not yet. It's not your time.  
It feels like my body is going to drop off a cliff. I ache. Slowly my cock drops.

What an obedient little boy you are!" stepping out of the room, leaving me crushed, frustrated.

* * *


	16. Sunday The Third Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's turn at the game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is ass fingering and fucking

It's evening, and James has suggested we put on our trousers for dinner. 

* * *

Our chairs are close together at the table, he feeds me, kissing, licking between bites.

* * *

I'm always in a state of arousal but hold myself back, knowing it's getting close to my turn.

* * *

Clearing the food from the table, his hands reach for my ass, squeezing. Placing the dishes in the sink, I nearly drop one as his hand reaches to my bulge, clutching, compressing that area.

"James. if you continue--," having a hard time talking.  
"And if I do, what will happen to my baby?" squeezing hard, daring me.  
"No, I won't, I won't come," hastily assuring him.

"Go into the bedroom, take off those trousers, lie on the bed spread-eagle." 

What has he planned now? I thought it was for me this time around!

* * *

At the foot of the bed, one hand on his hip and the other around his jaw, he walks up and back, up and back.

"hmmmm, what can I do for you?" strutting back and forth, naked.

* * *

I'm already rock hard, trying my best to hold back.

"Can I give a suggestion, James?" my voice small, embarrassed.  
"Why not? You deserve something special."

I'm so hesitant about giving it a voice, I'm shivering with the very thought of this happening.

* * *

"I saw a drawing once. A man was on his back, his legs over the shoulders of the man entering his ass. That man fucking him was leaned over to also suck his cock. Can you do that to me?"  
"Am I getting this right? You want me to ass fuck you and suck your dick at the same time?"  
I nod slightly, afraid of his reaction.

"Why you little devil you? You want this done to you?" his eyes light up, stopping in his tracks, those dark eyes brilliant in the gaslight.

"Would you or is it too much to ask?"  
" Too much to ask? I'm supposed to be giving you anything you want, and you're asking me to fuck that ass of yours? Wow! That means I will be in you up to my balls. You know that, don't you?" the gleam in his eyes worth the probable pain it would cause.  
"Yes," staring at him, his cock stiffened.

"Do you come in my mouth or do I release it on you? And should I come in your asshole or take it out and spray you?"  
He's enjoying this game a lot.

"I'd love to feel your cock inside throbbing. And know I've got your come in me," becoming bold.

Snapping his fingers,"I have an idea. When you're ready to ejaculate, lift your face, and see if you can catch it in your mouth. Damn, look at me. Just thinking about this." His cock full.

* * *

He climbs on the bed kneeling, my legs go over his shoulders.

The lube is on the side table, and I hand it to him.  
I can turn my head and watch him liberally lube his cock. Then I feel a finger around my hole.  
My breathing ramps up, my shivering deepens. I put my hand on his arm, "James, I'm scared."

* * *

Even in my short time with James in university, we finger fucked, and we only once had cocks in each others ass. Not all the way, for me. It was painful. Too scared to finish.

Our time together was limited anyway, so we either sucked or rubbed together.

* * *

"Nothing to it," he stops to wipe his hands on the sheet, "wait. Have you ever had a cock up you since me? The truth now."  
"No, never," so frightened that I can't control my shaking body.  
"Damn, why didn't you say so? I'm flattered of course."  
With that he pulls away, my legs slipping off him.

* * *

" Since you've asked for this and it's your turn to have your pleasure, I'm going to prep you first. What a surprise to know your ass is tight," spreading my legs wider, his hands kneading my ass cheeks. 

With his fingers well lubricated, he starts with one finger in, twisting and turning it.  
Two and then three. At each insertion I try not to spasm, to push those fingers out of my hole.

My breathing, in slowly, out slowly relaxes me. I can't describe the sensation. Somewhere between pain and ecxtasy

" Ahh, yess, hmm," knots in my stomach unwinding, giving in to him.   
His shoulders again support my legs; I can tell his cock is stiff, waiting to enter my hole.  
" I can take it," breathless, as his cock drives in.

I had no idea that the full force of it raming me would have me scream into the pillow, my eyes flooding, twisting my hips to try to dislodge him.

* * *

"Yea, shit, fuck," his body driving into me, relentless, non-stop, forgetting my pleasure for his.

"If you-- can hold off-- and come-- after me," his words spaced by deep breaths.  
" I'll let you come--,"  
His mouth goes to my cock and furiously pumps  
I bite my lips, my hands fisting the sheets.  
He pulls his mouth off, and I groan.  
So full into me I feel his balls bounce wildly on my ass, his cock hitting my inner walls.  
"Noooo, " he hollers, and the pulsing of his cock, the releasing of his come is felt deep inside, hitting my prostate.

I can't wait for his mouth.  
I grab my cock to yank it, twist it, stroke it and lift my head to see my come landing on my chest, with some of it landing on my lips.

* * *

Lying on his side next to me, his fingers spread the white substance, lapping it with his tongue.

His limbs wrap around me, my hurting ass almost forgot. I'm in his arms, and that's what I want.

* * *


	17. Sunday-The Last Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is forced to do James next sex game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ass licking

My bladder calls to me during the night and setting my feet on the floor I notice James is not in bed.

First, to the bathroom and then into the kitchen, where James has lit candles, and he's eating cheese and crackers.

* * *

" Hot damn! So much sex makes me hungry," handing me a piece of cheese on a cracker.

"Surprised you don't want more," sarcasm taking over while I take a slice off the brie cheese myself, suddenly aware of his smirk, the glow of the candles lighting those dark, dark eyes.

Taking in a breath I breathe it out quickly, not sure what he wants now.

* * *

"Oh no, you do want more! I was kidding! No, I can't. Still sore."  
" This is for me, my poppet. All I need is your tongue," picking up a candelabra, setting it on the table next to the sofa. 

* * *

His pajama bottoms are off. and he kneels on the floor, facing the sofa, his arms on the cushion.

* * *

"Please James, no more. I'm worn out. James, no histrionics, I just can't," walking towards the stairs.   
Jumping up on his feet, he rushes over to me.  
His arm takes mine, and before I can move away he twists it behind my back.

I cry out in pain, and he yanks on my hair, pulling me back to the sofa.

* * *

"Little bitch. When I ask for something, you give it to me. Understand?"  
" Let go, let go. I understand," submitting quietly, he lets my arm alone.

* * *

He kneels, this time taking the small blanket from the sofa and placing it on the floor between his legs.  
          "My poor baby. I didn't mean to hurt you. Give me this one gift, and I'll suck you off all week." 

* * *

The manhandling, the threats, cause something deep in me to unravel. It sends pulses through me, wanting more, wanting him. To be all his.

* * *

"Come over here and do as I say, his voice rough.  
" I want you to lick my ass crack and hole. I want it, and you'll give it to me. Especially now that you've resisted me."  
" I've never done anything like this. I don't--."  
Forcing his cheeks wide open with his hands, letting me see his hole.  
" Stop stalling, son of a bitch."  
On my knees, I reach close and tentatively lick, the tip of my tongue feeling his hole, resisting the urge to puke.  
"Ahh, yes again. Keep doing it," holding his ass cheeks in place with his hands.

My tongue traces around, washing his wrinkled area.  
His moans follow my tongue tickling his pucker hole, softening and feeling it open wide.  
My finger twists and turns, never entering that little cavity but smooth out those wrinkles

"Put your tongue in," hissing. 

This time it's my hands that spread his cheeks wide, my tongue folding and entering. Can't help it; I dry heave, once and twice.

* * *

He's fisting his cock, tugging at it.  
Spitting on his wrinkled hole I push a finger in up to the second knuckle.  
His body stiffens,"You motherfucker you," breathless, his come spurts, and drops on the blanket.

* * *

Picking up the soiled blanket he spreads it on my face, my lips.  
" Dirty whore. Sit there and let it stiffen.

* * *

After a few minutes, he stands, takes the blanket and comes back with it, wet on one side, to clean off my face.

* * *

Sitting next to me his dark eyes shine, whispering his love with hands and mouth.

* * *

"Forgive me, my sweet love. You are a rapture to me, a great symphony. I lose myself in you. I forget and become like an animal. Unforgiving, harsh. Forgive me?" kisses, touches, gentle, loving.

* * *

"Of course, my sweet James. I will always forgive you. I will always excuse your excesses. That's a part of you I love."

* * *


	18. The Next Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter. Harmless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess by now you've gotten the idea that this is a very unhealthy relationship.

Jumping up to sit on the bed, I wearily reach to stop the insistent ring of the alarm.

James curls around me, his morning hardness pressing, pushing against me.

" Please not now, my bones ache, James. And don't make a funny crack about that!"  
"Well, we certainly exercised enough yesterday. Seriously, though, do you have to be up, Sherlock?"  
"Yes, but I'll be home early enough to make us a good dinner. How's that?" leaning to kiss my lover.

" I want you here," trying to climb on me, I push him off and step onto the floor.  
Ignoring his want; " Don't get up. I'll make coffee for both of us, and you can be lazy. See you tonight."  
Reaching out when my feet hit the floor, he halts my getting up.

"It was good. Wasn't it? I meant yesterday. Was I a selfish prig? Was it too much?" whining.  
Knowing James mind, I give him the answer he needs,"it was good. And you were just fine. I loved it."

* * *

Sitting is a slight problem, my rear end being sore. If it made James happy, then I'm happy myself.

* * *

I walk out the door and find a taxi. Don't need our carriage. I'll let James use it if he needs.

* * *

A new situation involving a drug bust and I'm at the police all afternoon and into the late evening.

* * *

By the time I'm home it's after ten and James can't be found in the house.  
A note on the bed reads, _Your body is mine in the morning. Plan on it._

* * *

This is the first time I've been out late since we've been in New York.  
I sigh, knowing James is upset and don't know quite what to expect when I wake.

* * *

I feel the bed move as James slips in and turn to face him.  
It's still dark out.  
" Hello, you must be exhausted?" anticipating something, whether an acerbic answer or a physical one.  
" Where were you?" his tone aggravated, slipping under the covers.  
"First over to the police station and then to my office. There was so much to do, and I had to close the case immediately."  
"When you say you're going to be home, I would expect you to be," sighing deeply.  
"A big drug bust that started this weekend. Had to work on it."  
" In the morning I expect a blowjob in the shower. And it better be a good one!"

* * *

It's the least I can do to appease him. 

* * *


	19. Meeting People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Sherlock meet some very important people. This is good for Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more abuse, verbal, at the hands of James

Another tiring day! Something odd is happening. The police working with me, for some damn reason are not being straightforward.  
Maybe it's because I'm intruding into their territory.

* * *

There's the mail sitting on the front table entering the house.  
James never bothers looking at it. Too many bills he always says.

* * *

Opening an envelope I see it's to dinner for next Thursday night.  
A Mister Henry McNamara.

"James, do you know who this man is?" handing him the invitation.  
His eyes widen, "Oh, I know of him! Very influential in the shipping industry. I'd love to go. A good contact for me."  
"You know this is probably Mycroft's doing," expecting him to change his mind because it specifically is Mycroft.  
"I don't care. Mycroft, Shmycroft. We're going," planting a kiss on my cheek,"I could certainly use a man like him. And if Mycroft has been the influence then all the better. Maybe he's changing his mind about me."

* * *

Ringing the doorbell, we get met at the door, "Hello, I'm Henry McNamara. Can't stand all the formality of having a butler open the door and announce. I have two feet," chuckling.  
" Do come into the drawing room and meet my wife."  


Bertha is an amply built woman, in her fifties. No jewelry but her wedding ring, and an honest smile.  
Henry is built as she is, with his rounded face and stomach.

* * *

"Your brother Mycroft and I have known each other for a few years. I had to make a trip to London, and amongst the many people I met he stood out. A brilliant man."  
"Yes, he is," choking back a more acerbic remark. 

How sick I am of always hearing about the brilliance of my brother!

* * *

"He wired me informing me you were here in the States. I thought it would be a pleasure to meet the other Holmes brother."  
Henry and his wife exchange fond glances.

"And Mister Moriarty you are in shipping I understand."

* * *

And as always, James takes control of the conversation. He's outgoing, witty and quick to compliment. Flirting with Bertha, he elicits laughter from her. His smile, his dark eyes light up everywhere.

* * *

We're served chicken pudding, mashed potatoes, creamed cabbage, Waldorf salad for dinner.  
A good blackberry wine to go with dinner and apple pie with a vanilla ice cream to finishes off our meal.

* * *

At the end of our dinner Bertha charmingly says," If you're willing I can invite some ladies here for the next time."  
"That would be wonderful, Bertha," James inclines his head followed with a sweet smile.

* * *

Standing, Bertha excuses herself, and we are led into the drawing room by Henry.

"Cigars, gentlemen? Not sure of the customs in your country, but here cigars are most popular."  
Both of us decline and take seats while Henry pours us each a brandy.

* * *

"Mister Moriarty, Mister Holmes, may I be frank? Your brother told me of, how to say it, your friendship.  
He sees my face darken," now don't get upset. I am very understanding of your situation. I too am--that way."

He pauses to let us absorb that last statement, and then continues," I married for convenience, to keep my real 'personality' hush-hush. I know of 'places'; he emphasizes that word, "which you can go to in safety while here. Some clubs to in which to assemble. My wife knows nothing of this, by the way."  
"We appreciate your thoughtfulness, and would enjoy whatever past time you can conjure up," James states.  
"Be very careful who you deal with Mister Moriarty. After all, this country was founded by Pilgrims," and he chuckles.

* * *

Our next encounter with Mister McNamara comes in the form of a printed request sent by messenger to our house.

_'This Thursday, six pm at the Grand Club, Avenue A. dress very casually. No women allowed._

My stomach turns at going, but I show the card to James to get his opinion.  
"Well, Sherlock, what do you think? Shall we give it a go?"  
"I'm not sure. I'll go reluctantly. If this is anything like the fan parties, I'm leaving."  
"You know, you're so reserved, so inhibited that sometimes it sickens me."  
" All except when it comes to you, darling."  
"Oh really?" his eyebrows raising.  
"How many times do I follow whatever you want. Give you everything when you ask?"  
Because I know it's what you like, thinking in my head.

* * *

"Of course we should be going. And who knows who we'll meet there."

* * *

Since the sex Sunday I haven't seen James most evenings.  
He's not even sharing our bed.  
He says he prefers going to the other bedroom so not as to wake me with his late hours.  
Questioning him leads to vague answers. He's playing cards; he's been drinking at someone's house. I tiptoe around the subject, leaving it alone is best.

* * *

Finally, one evening he's home early and craving his attention I cross the room and attempt to enfold him in my arms, to kiss him.  
He carefully moves my hands away and sits in an armchair instead of on the sofa.

"Why are you walking away from me? You're fucking someone aren't you James?" not able to hide my annoyance.  
"Let's go upstairs and talk this out. You've been in a foul mood lately."  
"Me, me? It's you avoiding me,"climbing the steps, the door shuts behind us.

* * *

Hands on his hips, he stalks around, his face frowning, not too pleased at the moment.

"I'll be very candid with you. I am fucking someone. A woman. It's to get some very explicit information from her. Other than that my cock has been clean."  
"Did you get it? The information?"  
My fists tighten, standing by the window so he can't see my distress.  
"Yes," the chuckle I hear, the monster of jealousy wrapping me in its claws.

"Must have been damn good to get information that quickly."  
James chuckles again, "It took two all-night fuckings and no sleep to get it."

My expression sour, voice shrill," And that's where you've been? Could have told me. But no, that's my James for you. Ready with a hard-on anytime you need."  
Wait, wait just a minute! You think I enjoyed fucking a woman?"  
"Fucked anyone else recently?" can't help it, the words slip out, and I wait for the after effect.

* * *

Now I wait for the explosion. His temper. But instead, he tilts his head; those dark, dark eyes soften.

" Aww, come here, my baby. I've neglected you, and your daddy needs to comfort you," standing up he encloses me within his arms. Leading me to the cushioned sofa he peels off my clothes and with the tenderness I've come to love he gives me all his attention.

* * *

Why do I give in so quickly? Frightening to me sometimes. He's mesmerizing. 

* * *

And sex, it's always new, always a challenge to keep up with him. And those eyes. Deep, dark.

* * *


	20. Meeting New People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some influential people who assist Sherlock when in need

We're going to the party, but it's not with fans.

* * *

James is all worked up over it. I'm not.

* * *

Not knowing what to expect I dress plainly. Tan trousers, white shirt, dark brown vest and a black coat.  
"Okay, going conservative tonight are we?" James walking around me, inspecting.

He's not!  
In red trousers, a black shirt, red vest and black coat, he looks every bit the devil he is.  
"I could rape you right now," my cock already tenting my trousers.  
"Sigh, no time, but I'll take you up on that later."

* * *

The Grand Club is in a nondescript office building on one of New York's many narrow side streets.  
The only acknowledgment of its being other than offices is the word 'Club' on a tiny gold plaque sitting on the brick wall to one side of the entranceway.

* * *

This mysterious club is at the end of the hallway.  
The gold plaque is proclaiming 'Club' on the door. James knocks, and a head appears, holding the door partway open.

* * *

"Your names?' and as speak our names he looks at a paper in his hand, nodding yes, we are ushered into the room.

* * *

It looks exactly like any club in England.  
Dark walls, dark furniture. Gas lights illuminate most of the room.  
I could be wandering into any of Mycrofts' exclusive establishments.

* * *

" There's Mister McNamara," James bobs his head to the right.  
The man is sitting on the edge of an armchair, drink in hand, conversing with a bald man whose dark, very thick bushy eyebrows make him easy to remember.

* * *

"Gentlemen, good to see you here," shaking hands with us both," Feel free and open. Each man's sworn to secrecy about this place and each other. So no worries on your part." James rubs his hands together in a manner I find off-putting.  
And sure enough, without waiting, he heads off to a lone gentleman standing by a window.

* * *

"Go ahead Mister Holmes, mingle. Your partner has wasted no time," tittering, he turns back to converse with the bushy eyebrows, ignoring me.

* * *

I'm not sure what to do next. Hands in my trouser pockets I stand alone, feeling out of place.

James is off to take care of his impulses.  
Again!  
Why does he have to do this?  
That's it! I'm going to drag him out of here right now.

* * *

Determined to leave with him, I take two steps and stop. Captivated by the oddest, but prettiest man I can ever remember seeing.

At first he's seen out of the corner of my eye, catching my attention.  
Turning to see him straight on I'm looking at a very, very tiny waist and curly blonde hair down around his shoulders. 

He's staring, at me, enveloping me in his gaze.

He sees he's got my attention and he executes a pirouette and sashays towards me.

Taller than me even though I'm considered a tall man he stands in front of me, looking me over as a prize won.

* * *

" Don't talk, don't speak yet," a heavy Russian accent. Ballet dancer here for a short stay. Even has his ballet slippers on.  
"Let me gaze at ravishing figure here," his left hand tossing my curls back off my forehead, his right sliding down my cheek, the barest of touch, like silk on my skin.

Entranced by him, his lean, sculpted face, tiny body, I'm rooted to the spot, James erased from my mind for the moment.

* * *

"Where you come from? A fairy hole?"  
I laugh,"No I'm from England. What a weird thing to think! A fairy hole?" laughing again at the silliness.  
"Ach, the foreigner like me. Showing Americans what beauty looks like," his fingers are at my throat and slides down to begin unbuttoning my shirt, with long graceful fingers.  
"Sir--," my hand grabbing his, stopping him after he undoes the third hole.  
"Such bad manners I have. Forgive me," stepping back as his hand sweeps around, he bows, his head down to his knees, and back up, "Leonid Popov, your servant. I will be your Juliet, your Odette. I lay," dropping to the floor, laid out as one dead, " my life at your feet."

Laughing at this alluring, pleasing, dancer, I take his hand and pull him up, "Sherlock Holmes. And you don't have to die for me."  
Again those slim fingers shyly examine my cheeks, then drops to my neck.  
I let out a shuttering breath.  
" Mister Sherlock Holmes, I wish to explore, to drink in, to smell, to taste-."  
Those fingers playing notes on the nape of my neck, leaning in as if to kiss me.

I hesitate, take a step back," Please, there's no need to be so dramatic with me."  
" Ach, but the great Leonid likes the drama," hand off me, his body leaves the ground, twirls in the air, and lands on both feet.

* * *

"To impress man I want to fuck tonight, I do--," jumping in the air again, spinning, touching the ground, he bows low, his face looking up at me expectantly, his eyes flashing. 

My head turns away, trying to find James. He's not to be seen anywhere in the room. I'm confused, conflicted-- and upset. He's doing what; I don't care to know.

But I have this gorgeous pretty boy in front of me, admiring me, if only for the moment.

* * *

"Continue with those buttons."  
He looks behind me, pushes me, no, nudges me backward onto the sofa.  
That's when I notice those dark, dark eyes, and I shiver.  


They remind me of James.

* * *

Balancing his body with one leg outstretched touching the floor, as if he's posing, he reaches for my shirt and the third button is undone.  
My hand brushes over his face and I seek his lips.

" No, precious flower. No touching of lips."  
He's got my vest pushed open and pulls my shirt out, both his palms roaming my chest.  


I'm panting, taken in by this creature. And he's responding to me in the same way.  
"Such exquisiteness, such treasure I have found."  
He's flamboyant and fun, but when his hands undo my trousers everything changes.

I feel trapped, stiffening up I jump, upsetting him from his position, he lands on the floor, "excuse me, I can't--"  
"But you have bewitched me, don't run like Cinderella, come back, come back," yelling out, arms stretched, while I make for the open door. Henry McNamara just ahead of me and is taking his time, but in a rush, I try to push past and bump into him.

"Mister Holmes, leaving already?"  
"I don't like these-"  
"But, you have the attention of the most interesting man in the room! What he does with that body! Oh, to be young again!"  
My eyes dart around, seeking someplace to gather my thoughts.

"Follow me, Sherlock. I see you're upset," leading down the hall into another room where two others sit.

* * *

"Let me introduce you to the gentlemen here," pouring us both a drink.  
"Mister Wickersham, from England, like yourself. Mister Rockefeller, an American."  
My eyebrows raise, "I have heard a lot about you, Mister Wickersham. My brother knows you. Mycroft Holmes. I'm the younger sibling Sherlock."  
"Yes, I know Mycroft. We had dealings together when I visited your country. A most honorable man. Going places in the government."

Gritting my teeth, I take the offered drink and find a chair to sit in.

* * *

The man to my right, Mister Rockefeller has had his eye on me since I entered the room. A very astute man, I'm sure he sees my discomfort.

" Call me George. I'm one of the lesser Rockefellers, at your service." 

* * *

They have the good graces, seeing me troubled, to leave me to myself.

* * *

I listen to the discussion that was ongoing before I entered.  
It's all about the railroads and their expansion across the United States. I find myself engrossed and begin joining in, forgetting my nervousness from earlier.

* * *

"Sherlock, if there's a time convenient, I love for you to join us at my house. We get together fairly often for discussions such as these. And first names apply. We are not as formal as you Englanders are," George says with everyone chuckling in response.  
"Thank you, sir. I enjoyed this evening chat with you. I would bid you goodnight. And thank you again, Mister-- yes, Henry."  


I'm not going to worry myself about James. He'll do what he wants. Right now I'm going home.

* * *


	21. The Dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ach Leonid! What fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A joy to write anything about this dancer. Shows Sherlock a new side to sex

I proceed down the hall, my thinking is to get outside, forget James and go home.

* * *

Only to find the Russian, leaning against the wall. Upon seeing me, he stands straight, blocking my way.

"You hurt Leonid's feelings, deep," his hands rest over his heart.  
" I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry. I don't like casual sex. I only came here tonight at the request of a friend. "  
"Oh, understand," giving up one of those fantastic bows.  
"But with me, not casual. I fall at your feet-," and before he hits the ground my hand goes around his waist, and I pull him back up.

"Stop with the theatrics, Mister Popov."  
I can't help but laugh. He's so cute when he acts like this. A child.

" I do need your help. I could use a ride home. Can you do that for me?"  
" For the angel, I bring the wings to travel on," sweeping to hold open the door and let me leave first.  
"But for you, the pretty one, my name is Leonid. Not Mister Popov. That for strangers."  
"Leonid, you are a wonder. And for you, I am Sherlock" the cold night air hitting us; I place my arms around myself while waiting for his carriage.

* * *

"Let me to warm you. It's first step to fucking you," arms swaddling my body.

At least he has me laughing, and not taking him too seriously.

* * *

The carriage pulls up, and Leonid helps me up the step as if I was a little child. Carefully, his hand on my back, steadying me.

* * *

As he pulls himself in and closes the door," I want you see me as special person. Different from men who have already fucked you."

* * *

He sits across from me," I must stare at you, must dream. Will these eyes see you again?"  
          "Why not!" sighing slightly, grinning at his exaggerated talk. He bounces over to sit next to me.

" I touch you? Lightly? Like feather?" his fingers unfasten each button, again, his eyes observing me. 

One by one my vest and shirt is spread wide, exposing my chest. Almost reverently, he palms my nipples.  
I shutter, hum with my need.

* * *

"Leonid, he only do what you like. I stop when you say stop."  
          " Leonid, oh god, stop," my voice a whisper, wanting but not wanting.  
          "Oh, why? Have I offend you? Leonid only wants the pleasure for you," pouting; he moves away against the window.

* * *

"Aha," even in the near dark I can see his face light up.

" I wine you and dine you! Then fuck you!" his hands stabbing at the air towards me.

I'm amused at this delightful man, at his capability to make me feel unique.  
Even with knowing it's all a sham. All a game to him.

* * *

He pouts, his head down to his chest, peeking sideways at me.  
          "Is fuck not good? Too soon? Maybe fuck after dessert?"  


Laughing wildly,"Okay, I give up," and at those words, he jumps on top of me, his arms surrounding in a hug, pecks on my neck.

* * *

"No, no Leonid. No fucking. I meant I would let you wine and dine me."  
His body moves away, the pouting look again.

" And then, because of great personality, you will let me fuck you."  
He's insane! He's mad!  
I'm foolishly giggling.  
"Stop. Just wining and dining will do."

"Mister Sherlock Holmes, I will not sleep, will not eat until you are pleasured."  
He takes my hand with both of his, looking at me as if he was going to heaven.

"When, my fair one, and where my sweet one?"  
I know I'm taking a risk, going out, but James has left me tonight, and I'm still upset by it. He probably was screwing someone in some room at that club.

* * *

"Tomorrow night, six, here at the Grand Club, pick the room," as the carriage stops, opening the door.  
          " I come in my carriage. White horses with fairy wings," an arm holding me halfway in, a foot on the step.  
          "Wait, why you run, like Cinderella! Stay in carriage and let me--.  
          "No Leonid. I must go," my arm tingling from his touch.  
          "Will you leave slipper for me?" and with a huge smile, I pull out my handkerchief and lightly drop it on the rung.

* * *

Getting up in the morning, I walk into the bedroom that James' occupies most of the time. 

I can tell that James has not been home. Damn that man!

* * *

Even the servants, when questioned, have not seen him.

* * *

Leaving a message on his bed, I walk to Central Park, buy some peanuts and people-watch.

* * *

I rewind, in my mind, Leonid. What a fantasy that man projects! With him, I do feel the princess, or prince if I think about it.

* * *

I wander back to the house in the early evening, and spy a note from James sitting on the front hall table.  


_I came home, and you were gone. The servants had no idea where you were. I should if all goes well, be home but it will be close to morning._

* * *


	22. Leonid, Leonid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? A seduction!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft, sweet and loving. That's the way I planned this seduction of Sherlock

How shall I dress for tonight's dinner? Do I tease? Do I dress conservatively?

I know I'm expecting him to try to make love to me. It will be entertaining to see how he manages to maneuver me, to play me.

* * *

I decide on a bit of both, teasing and genteel.  
My black pants that fit tight across my rear. No underwear.  
My purple silk shirt that fits too tight across my chest and I can't bear to throw out! I love the feel, the texture and how it hugs me.

* * *

No tie.

I leave the top two buttons of the shirt undone. Daring but fun.  
Vest? No!  
My black overcoat that stops at my hip finishes off the ensemble.

* * *

Turning this way and that looking at myself in the mirror it's dashing, a flair but enough clothes to hold him off.  
I hope so. Or do I?  
Are you expecting him to flirt? Of course!  
Do you fancy that? Yes, I admit I do, my heart skyrocketing.

* * *

One last touch!

A red rose taken from the vase in my room. My boutonniere! Now I look rakish!

* * *

With James ignoring me a flirt would be a welcome respite. Well, as long as it doesn't go too far. A fuck! Indeed! Smirking in the mirror.

* * *

In the carriage, "I'm glad you come. I think you are afraid," sitting across from me, wearing a long black, flared cape. Hiding all of him.

* * *

He's not his usual buoyant self. He stares out the window with no teasing, no light touches.  
Has something soured him? Is he sorry about tonight? Does he want a more willing partner?

* * *

"Something is upsetting you. What is it?"  
Turning away from the window and squinting at the rose on my lapel, his hand touches the flower.  
"Lover give you?"  
My fingers linger over his, "no, no. It comes from my front garden. I have fresh flowers brought to my room almost every day. Do you want me to throw it away?"

"Ach love. You keep. Red rose nice.  
His dark eyes flash with joy,"Yes, yes, all fine," moving to sit next to me, our thighs in touch.

"Leonid I'm thinking how to charm you, to make you smile. You keep saying you want to please me. But, how do I please you?"  
" I smile in your presence. That is enough. For now!"

* * *

A swift kiss on my cheek and we're at the club, the front door opening, and we walk down the hall.  
He steps in front of me with a sparkle in those eyes while he knocks twice on a door.  
And it opens.

* * *

"For you, the seduction," his usual bow I almost do not notice as I gape, tongue hanging out, at the scene in front of me.

* * *

First, the perfumey scent assaults me, and then it's my sense of sight that invades and penetrates my brain.

* * *

Hundreds of white roses in vases on every piece of furniture that has a top, some of them have two, three, four vessels.  
From the large overhead chandelier roses that are still on the vine, flow partially down.  
Petals are scattered all over the carpeted floor, giving it a second carpet feel.  
A fireplace lit, roses on the hearth and its mantle.  
Gaslight and candlelight combine to give a shimmering glow.

* * *

I'm holding my breath, and have to exhale. Taking this all in with one breath is impossible!

* * *

A table with two chairs is near the fireplace, place settings of gold, and in the middle a circle of roses, candles floating in a bowl of red water.

* * *

Off to one side, I see a white furry chaise lounge chair that three people could recline on most luxuriously. One red rose rests in the center along with more petals.

* * *

I gingerly step in, entranced, captivated. Another step further, mesmerized.

* * *

Seduction?

It's beyond anything I could have imagined!  
Could he drop me on the floor and take me right now?  
Hell, yes!

"Leonid, it's too-it's so--" breathless, comprehensive of the time and effort to put this spectacle together. 

And it's all for me?

* * *

"Breathtaking one, all for you," slightly behind me.

          "Leonid, it's too-it's so--," repeating my former words. It's all I can say.

* * *

Stepping to the table, he pulls out a chair, coaxing me to come and sit.

Pealing my eyes away from the view, my heart climbs into my mouth even further to see, this time to feast my eyes on my host.

He had thrown his cloak off while I was entranced with the trapping of the room.

* * *

I gape, mouth wide open, eyebrows up to my hairline!

He's wearing his ballet tights, white, outlining every muscle.  
A billowy sleeved white shirt ruffled down the center, opened up to his waist, neatly tucked in.  
A small red scarf tied around his neck.  
His blonde hair in curled tangles around his face and on his shoulders.  
Damn, he looks-spectacular!

* * *

And then I notice, my handkerchief is peeping out of his sleeve. I can see my monogram on it.

* * *

I'm hard as a rock, my heart racing.

"You look-, well, you are-," nothing else comes out of my mouth.  
Struck dumb!

* * *

"You like, I see. I wear for you only."

Like? Good god, I love!

* * *

My mind, my heart is bouncing out of control sitting in the offered chair.

My ballet dancer is behind me, brushing my hair out of the way to take small nips around my neck.  
          "Oh, oh! God yes!" my head tilted to allow more access to my nape.  
          "I do not hurt, do I?" a small backward step, his face, as I turn to him, a slight pink.

"No, no, I--am so stimulated by--," the words won't come.  
"Ach, stimulate is good. Closer to fuck." moving to the other chair.

* * *

"Leonid, you are absolutely, well, you're exotic, awesome--," my throat closing.

* * *

" I understand now why you asked about the rose," taking it out of my coat.  
"Would you put one of yours in there?"

" I do not need to see another flower. You are flower."

* * *

I can only stare at my plate, my heart not slowing, my ability to rationalize is gone.

* * *

The door opens, startling me, and two strangers intrude. It feels like an intrusion.

I don't want anyone else in this room other than the two of us.

Looking closely I see one man carries a violin and bow, and the other a cloche.  
The violinist takes a position in a corner, puts the instrument to his chin, and plays soft music.

The cloche is placed on the table, and the man opens it to reveal soup.

"Turtle soup," the man announces, ladling it into our bowls, and walks silently out.

* * *

"Moy angel, moye solntse," he whispers, sitting across from me. Taking up his spoon and dipping it in the soup.

* * *

" And that means?" taking a spoonful of the liquid.  
"My angel, my sun. Russians very romantic. Cold, long winters."  
Laughing at that remark I begin to eat.

"Leonid, this is more than I could have dreamt. It was not expected and you- what can I say about you? The perfect romanticist."  
" The night is, how you say, young? We can make it old together," a shy smile. 

That's unexpected--shyness.  
Maybe he's not as confident as he shows.

* * *

How the waiter knows to bring in the next serving is beyond me.

The door opens at the right moment, dirty dishes are taken out, and more food arrives.

* * *

Pouring a Petit Verdot wine, he backs out again, leaving us with a lamb dish, that upon tasting has to be one of the best.

* * *

During the meal, Leonid is not flirting, not even staring at me. He concentrates on the plate and food in front of him.

I'm at a loss as to how to behave, reticent in the face of his sudden reserve.  
Are you disappointed, Sherlock?  
I expected a more rapturous-- Wait a minute, Sherlock!  
Stop this thinking! You idiot!  
Do you want him to seduce you?  
What would it be like, I wonder!

* * *

There is no dessert brought to the table.  
Is he the dessert?  
There you go, speculating, again!  
Do you expect to be ravished by this overpowering but tender man?  
My head is swimming with all these ideas. My heart is again racing.

* * *

" My Zolushka, (my Cinderella), do you speak French?" the blush rising on his cheeks.  
          "Yes fluently."  
          "Good. Expected of well-educated in your country."  
Pushing away from the table he takes, from off the sideboard a red package with a white ribbon, and on one knee next to me he kisses the fabric, slides it on the red tablecloth.

"Do not open yet, angel'skoye litso.(angel face)."

* * *

          "You give me gift," holding up his arm with the handkerchief still under his cuff.

          " I give you many gift. Many gift of love."

Standing, and with a shake of his blonde curls, his attitude changes. The gleam in those dark eyes, the little smile that turns up.

" Now, now is the dessert." 

* * *

Moving, gliding gracefully over to the lounge, he picks up the red rose.  
His flexible dancer's body drapes itself on the white cloud, legs spread open, the toes of one reaching to the ground, his eyes never wandering from my face. His right hand dangles on the floor, palm open with the rose in the center.

He doesn't move, doesn't beckon, lies there--waiting.

* * *

What do I do? My eyes run down his form.

And upon reaching his--, oh my god!

* * *

Those tight, tight white pants outline everything!  
As if he's not wearing any material between him and his--!  
He isn't!  
Shit! The full, erect, length of his penis.  
His tip, that rosy wonder, with a wet smear at the edge, marring the white of the tights.

* * *

I have no choice, no holding back, my cock screamingly strains in its holder.  
Standing over this display, Leonid sits partly up; the rose dropped on the floor, his fingers deftly peel open my buttons, sliding my shirt over my chest and off.  
Breath hitching I start to remove the rest of my clothes, but he places his hands over mine.  
          "No, I unwrap you. My cherished podarok(gift), my work of art." 

Pressing me onto the lounge chair, next to him, he opens each fastening of my trousers, slow, the movements accompanied by a brush of fingertips or lips.  
Pulling my boots and trousers off, kisses on my thighs, knees, toes. Sucking my toes, "Shit, hell, dammit!" every breath short, fast.

I'm a prince, a king, to be worshipped, indulged, fawned over.

* * *

" My podarok (gift) I do not do for me. This for the most zakhvatyvayushchiy (breathtaking) person."

His clothes fall away from him, and he lays his naked form beside me.  
The rose he picks up and sets it on my pubic hair.  
Pulling a petal of the rose off, between his fingers, he runs it down my chest.  
          "Ohhhh, Leonid, I'm ready--I have to---," through my clenched teeth.  
          "My Zolushka, (my Cinderella), too soon. I have not given you love."

* * *

Those fingers, those lips, everywhere, everyhow, touch me, caress me, brush me.  
Tears run, breath short, begging him, pleading. The beauty of it.

* * *

"You tell me. Is it enough love?"  
Laughing, crying," Yes you ravishing dancer. Yes, yes, yes."

* * *

His body rolls over onto me, his hand touches my cock, almost, but not entirely, losing my control.  
My hips roll up to meet his, locking our cocks together, his fingers intertwine with mine. His pelvis gyrates in a wave-like motion, friction against friction.

"For My Zolushka, (my Cinderella)," his breath whispers into my neck, tiny licks, tiny nips.  
          "Oh god, the motion, that's--what--how are you doing that? The way you're--"  
Only a dancer could move his hips as he is.  
          "Don't talk. Chuvstvovat' (feel)." 

* * *

Wave after wave crashes over me, surging, bursting, spilling, squeezing my liquid out in spasms.

* * *

Gripping my hand, Leonid thrusts forward, thighs close, hips push, roll, he curls up, pulses over and over, and is motionless.

* * *

Our hands still interlaced, while his eyes stare at my lips, and he barely touches them. Once, then twice.

* * *

I long to taste more, to cling to him, but he unravels himself, steps away, finds a cloth to wipe us.

* * *

Offering me a glass of wine, I take it, still dizzy.

"Dress first and open present second."

* * *

Open present? What he gave to me just now was present enough!

* * *

From the size and shape of the package, I can tell it's a book.

Tearing off the paper and ribbon, my eyes tear up, scanning the first few pages.

" A book. French interpretation, and illustrated, the story of Cinderella. How wonderful!"  
Reaching over to hug him, we stand that way a long while.

* * *

"And now is midnight and your coach waits."

Holding the door open for me, the smell of the flowers still in my nostrils, I'm dumbfounded, still in a daze.  
I take a step partially out the door, twist around towards him," will I see you-."  
His fingers slide down my face, "No, I leave for Russia tomorrow."  
          "No more?" the words choking out. Feeling sick.  
          " Leave now, before fantasy wears off," his arm nudges me out, the door closing inch by inch, pushing me along with it until it shuts.

I lean against it, my mouth pressing into the wood, "Leonid, Leonid," and his voice echoes back. "Sherlock, Sherlock."

* * *

This is how love is supposed to be. A fantasy, a wonderland. But it never is, isn't that right Sherlock?

* * *


	23. Discussing Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mycroft talk about Sherlock and his problems.  
> From Johns Point of View

Mycroft asks me to join him in his office at the house.

I'm almost never invited to this sanctuary, and so imagine this is something serious he wants to see me about

* * *

I've overstayed the time limit we discussed, and figure this is about my leaving. But I could use a little more time to accumulate more money.  
My dream of opening up a clinic is within my touch.  
A few weeks away.

I hope to persuade him to keep me for those few weeks needed.

* * *

He's standing behind his desk, shuffling papers, and motions for me to take a chair.

* * *

"John, I fear for my brother. Moriarty and his whole organization are tumbling around him."  
          "Wait, are you saying he's involved with Moriarty's dealings?"  
          " No. Sherlock has been very lax in his investigations of that particular cartel. The New York Police department has, through various channels, been sent intelligence on Moriarty's operations.   
          "And why hasn't he --?" puzzled.  
          "I couldn't use-- that man's name. Sherlock would have called me out on it. Would not have believed any of it."  
          " So what's happening?"  
          "Sherlock took on the cases, but never investigated thoroughly," sitting, swinging his chair around to see me better.  
"I informed the investigating detective that Sherlock was living with--him, but had no knowledge and was not a member of the organization."  
          "Do you think that maybe Sherlock suspects?" " Intellectually, my brother know James is doing something illegal. But that emotional tie he has, keeps him from the truth," fiddling with the letter opener.  
A sure sign that Mycroft is unsure of himself.

In the meantime, that man," noticing how Mycroft purposely ignores James Moriarty's name, "lost three conglomerates in the States. He's been scrambling ever since."

* * *

" It's that bad with Sherlock? I mean about him and Moriarty? The relationship?"  
          " He'll do and say anything for him. He's consumed, controlled and overpowered," his hands go over his face, wiping slowly down, to place those hands on his desk.

* * *

"And just what do you think will happen between them?" feeling very tense.

Placing his hands together, tented, in front of him, he says nothing, just peers at me over those hands.

* * *

"Do you think that he will harm Sherlock? Kill him, maybe?" hating to say it out loud.  
          "The possibility is genuine. I can't rule it out."

* * *

We both are still, not talking. In my head I'm trying to determine what I can do to help. Why Mycroft has sent for me. 

* * *

"Isn't there something? A way to protect him?"  
          " I do have people ready to assist if needed. But, James has Sherlock in a tight web. I had hoped to have an insider. Someone based in the house. It didn't happen. James caught on and--"  
          "So we sit and hope Sherlock comes to his senses and leaves? Is that it?" feeling overwhelmed.

* * *

Mycroft is as still as stone and I wanted to put an arm around him. Comfort him.  
But Mycroft would only cringe. Emotion is not a good thing when it comes to both Holmes men.

* * *

"Doctor Watson, I'm going to ask a very personal question. Since it concerns my brother, I would appreciate an honest answer." 

Taking a breath, I expect anything. The Holmes brothers never cease to surprise me.

* * *

"That first meeting with Sherlock at the party"--, interrupting him.  
          "You're referring to the time I was still living with the professor?"  
          "Yes. Precisely so. I perceived a connection between the two of you. I mean an emotional one. Is that true?"

Understanding my answer has to be factual, I take a few to put my impressions in order.

* * *

" I found him to be attractive, intelligent and entirely different from most men. Are you asking if there is a chance at friendship or romance?  
          "Quite possibly both. I fear for his mental health. Your quiet strength is what he'll need--when he arrives back home."

At least he's taking the positive attitude. 

'When he arrives home'

" And he'll need someone. He'll be a torn man, disoriented, and broken.

" I know your preference is more towards women."  
          "You're right on both counts. I do like women but have occasionally had some traffic with males. And--Sherlock has captivated me since we met. I'm not ashamed to say that I wouldn't mind him as a romantic figure in my life," the truth to Mycroft is most important right now.

"You would be a calming element in the chaotic life of Sherlock Holmes."  
          "I'm flattered you think so highly of me."

" I know, John, he was very cognizant of you. He was resentful when you moved in with me. And his distress at the thought of us cohabitating was palpable," playing with the letter opener he looks up at me, and I can see his apprehension visible.

"When, and it's only a short matter of time, he returns I would hope for your cooperation. That's all for now. Thank you," and being dismissed I rush to the kitchen to have a cup of tea.

* * *

Yes, I'll do whatever it takes. I like the man, even feel like a magnet is pulling us together. Eventually.

* * *


	24. The Abuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James goes out of control. Sherlock takes the worst of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full blown, physical, mental, verbal, and sexual abuse.

How is one ecstatically happy yet crestfallen all in the same period of time?

* * *

That's the roller coaster ride I've been on since leaving Leonid.

* * *

I ascend the steps to my bedroom, the book, my Cinderella book, held against my heart.

* * *

I'm surprised, on opening my door to see candles lit, the fire roaring, and James, in his dressing gown sitting in the armchair, fingers tapping on the arm.

* * *

Any emotions I had earlier felt is reined in to appease James. He's upset.

I attempt a lighthearted quip.

"How wonderful! You're waiting for me! What is on tonight's menu? You or me or both?"

The book I carefully put on the dresser and stand by the bed, trying to anticipate his mood.

Dark! Dark as his eyes would be if he looked up at me.

* * *

" Why did you leave the house without a vest and coat?"

* * *

In the emotion of the moment, I forgot to pick my coat off the chair before leaving Leonid.

* * *

I can't answer, afraid now. His mood is terrifying to me.

* * *

"Where have you been," picking his fingernails, absorbed in them.

My stomach tenses up. 

* * *

" At the Club with some friends," undoing those buttons that had earlier been undone with such bewitchery. 

I start to remove my clothes, keeping it slow, waiting for his direction. But none comes. And I stand, naked, marking time.

* * *

I know by his calm demeanor that something is going to happen, something terrible.

* * *

He rises, stepping close to me, then notices the book and picks it up.

My hand goes out to it, fear taking over,"Give that to me."

Shoving me out of the way, eyebrows raised, he opens it.  
"My Zolushka, My Cinderella. Your Russian, Leonid," he reads out loud.

I'm frozen in place, my face blanches white. He opens his hand and lets the book slide onto the floor.

I jump to grab it, his hand snaps up, slapping me across the face. 

The book lies there while I catch my breath, and again I bend, scoop it gently up and place it on the dresser.

* * *

"Your Russian? Cinderella? What a pretty picture! Did you put on a dress for him?"

If sarcasm had a high then James was the top of the pile right now.

I know this isn't going to be a good night.

* * *

He lifts his hand to my jaw, squeezing it. I feel his fingers digging deep into my cheeks. He lets go, and I rub my face. There will be marks.

Frightened, and in my foolishness, I blurt out, "Aren't you just as guilty fooling around--?"

"How dare you! Don't try and turn this around. We're discussing you. You and your Prince Charming faggot, " fury in those dark eyes blazing at me, he knees me in the groin.  
"Argh," hands folded in front, bent over, as he hits out with a massive punch to my stomach.  
I slump to my knees; as my breath blows out of me.  
Trying to stand back up, I slowly do, catching my breath, "James, I'm tired, can I--?"  
" Tired, huh? Did he wear you out?"  
"Did you wear makeup for him?" his thumb grazing along my lips, two fingers pinching my cheek.  
"Owww!"  
"Pretty boy with rouge on his cheeks," seizing my other cheek, his nails biting into the skin.  
          "Stoooopp," my head leaning away from those fingers.

"Let me guess. You wore a gown. He lifted it to fuck a pussy."  
His hand goes over his mouth as if in surprise," What's this? A cock and balls? Oh, even better, he says. I love cock."

"James I--" his hand reaches down, my cock gripped hard, tight in his fist.  
          " Oh, I've got a fairy queen, he says," Right?"  
In a loud, thundering voice," But you're my fairy queen. Not his, mine. All fucking mine."

Pulling on my cock, I have to bend over to stop the pain.

"Turn your back to me. You don't deserve to look at me."

* * *

I can't see him, shivering in anticipation, and--, something hard hits my left side. A wooden stick, no it's my cane.  
It crashes down, beats me over and over, wherever it lands.  
I fall to the floor, twitching, clutching my side.  
Flat against my stomach that cane thumps, my chest also feels its power.  
          "owww, James, you're-owwwwww" the breath whooshes out of me, "James," my arm trying to divert the wood cane as it pummels me over and over.

In my twisting and turning, I can see his face contorted in anger, his eyes blaze. Those dark, dark eyes are glowing, brandishing me as if a hot iron touched my body. 

"Little whore, slut, a piece of shit you are,"snarling between tight lips. Loud, blaring!  
Words searing into my brain!

I close myself up like a clam, every part of me assaulted, battered.  
My moans continuous, turning into high-pitched wails and sobs.

"A Cinderella with a cock up her ass. Is that what he did? " the cane lands on my cheek and then again.  
I roll around, agony hitting like a pincer.  
He sits on my stomach, legs on either side and leans down, close enough to my face that I feel his breath.

"Did that Russian kiss you? Put his filthy tongue in?" lips on mine, he bites down, breaking the skin.  
I yell, scream out,"Don't don't, no more, no more," teeth gnashing, weeping, tormented by the torture. 

Sliding down to my hips, his voice grating, "Let's see, did he suck you?" Like this?"  
His mouth covers almost the whole length of my cock,  
I try to double up, to get him away from me, but there's no way to escape.  
His mouth starts up, but it's his teeth that scrape every inch of the skin on my cock.  
Howling, roaring!  
My screams start from deep down and to the top of my lungs!  
My hands react automatically, trying to bat him away, he slaps them aside with the cane.

"Your balls. Did he put them in his mouth?"  
Chomping on one that he closes around, I convulse.  
Shake violently.  
My insides twist, I heave and vomit out onto the floor.  


A haze of spasms, ringing sounds, moans, pain, pain, pain.

* * *

"You fucking bitch, I'll show you. You can't play your games with me," breathing in short gasps, rolling me on my stomach, standing over me. 

My face is down into my puke, my tears, and the slime from my nose. 

The sting of the stick lashes across my ass.  
All I can do now is twitch and groan with each blow.

* * *

"Fuck, whore, slut," the words matching the blows.

"No more, I'm sooorrry."  
Choking on my words, my blubbering is a quiet surrender.  
          "Sorry? Did you fuck him or did he fuck you?" Between my legs, he stoops down, and his cock is--.  
          "Noooo, nooo!" 

Forcing himself into my hole, pushing, bursting my entrance, ripping it.

The scream I hear is deafening, roaring in my ears.  
It's my scream, from my throat, tearing out, slashing the air.  
I try to crawl away, but my head hits the wall banging hard.

"Sooo tight, you bitch, fucking queer," his fingers scratching the skin on my ass cheeks.

"Did he go in all the way, faggot?"

His hands are on my shoulders, nails digging, he shoves, bangs his cock further, pounding.

Roaring, shrieking, twitching, screaming, my fist in my mouth, biting at my knuckles, ripping some of the skin off.

He shutters and releases with a yell as he pulls out. Moans, low and visceral take over the sounds in the room.

* * *

I lie in my filth, torn, battered, unable to move.

* * *

It feels like an eternity before I try to crawl to another place. A place of safety. A place where I don't hurt in every part of my body. I can't.

Everything is agony, misery.

* * *

James is lying on the floor next to me, his breathing shallow.

* * *

" Oh my god! Oh no! Sherlock, what have I done! Oh god, I've--!" his voice staccato, rising to his knees, bending over me.  
" Shit, how could I? Oh, what a mess! Let me-- stay here, don't move," whimpering.

As if I could stray very far!

* * *

Lifting me up to sit out of the muck, I scream.  
The pain grounds into me, my stomach, face, my groin.  
          "Nooo, noo, don't. I'll fix it! I didn't--. Oh god, how could I?"  
He runs a warm cloth over my face.  
I howl, pain ripping through me,"get-- away-- from-- me," scarcely able to talk, my throat sore from bellowing out.

"Don't say anything. Let me fix it," crying, his tears spilling on my face.  
          " Oh god, what did I do? I didn't mean it. I'll do anything. Let me help."  
I try to push him away, but there's no strength in my body, nothing left.

* * *

"Your face! Look at your face! Dear god, help me. It should be me in pain. How could I? You must forgive me." 

His arms go under my shoulders, boosting me up onto my feet.

Bit by bit, each move agonizing, barely able to walk, I shuffle, with his help to lie on the bed.

"Don't worry about the sheet. I'll clean everything later.  
As if that's the one thing that I'm thinking of right now.

"What hurts, where?" his hands running over my body.

Stiffening with his touch, afraid he'll make it worse, I curl into a ball, thrusting his hands away.  
          "Let me find something to take the pain away. Oh shit, oh shit!"

* * *

"Here, take this."  
Helping me to sit up, helping me to hold the glass while I swallow two pills, I lie back down and curl back up.  
          "I'm going to clean you. You'll feel better, you'll see."  
A warm, wet towel is running over me. I scream, the pain, the pain!  
The slight touch has me twitching in agony.  
The room spins, my senses are torn apart. I feel everything leaving me. 

* * *

I must have blacked out. For how long I don't know.

Waking up, the sun through the window blinds me. I squint, my face feels swollen. My body stiff, any movement is agonizing.

* * *

I can, through the haze, see James sitting in a chair next to the bed.

Seeing me awake, he becomes the attentive, adoring lover, blathering excuses, asking for forgiveness.

* * *

"I'll make you better. I promise. This will all soon be forgotten. I'll love you more than ever.

I don't hear it, don't want to listen to it and the blackness takes over again.

* * *

For the next two days, I'm at the mercy of his care. He treats me like a baby. Soft words, crooning, rocking me.

Nothing is broken, but everything is bruised, both body and mind.

* * *

I'm helped, step by step, to the bathroom.  
My ass so sore I dread voiding. It's all soft anyway from my stomach being battered.

The image in the mirror shows my swollen face with black and blue cheeks.

* * *

He spoon feeds me, mostly soft foods.  


Each night he has to give me a pill to put me to sleep. 

* * *

Sullen, ill-tempered I refuse to talk, refuse to look at those dark eyes.  


"Sherlock talk to me. Tell me you forgive me. I was jealous of anyone near you. I love you. I will take care of you," and more appeals I do not answer to.

He sleeps in the armchair, pushed close to the bed, jumping awake when I make the slightest noise.  
I don't take much food because my stomach is still very tender to the touch.  
I can't sit on anything but a soft cushion.

* * *

I hate him!

* * *


	25. Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock leaves America. With help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No abuse of any kind

It's late in the morning. The fourth day after James has beaten me.  
In this whole time, I have not spoken a single sentence to him. Even with his pleading, cajoling, teasing ways.

* * *

I'm surprised to see he's not in his usual position, sitting in the armchair by the bed. A note is left there instead.

 _I have to be out for the better part of the day. Will see you for dinner. Brydon will take care of you._

Brydon is our house man. And driver.

* * *

Dressing carefully, wincing at every move, I manage my trousers and shirt and give up on any other clothes. Too many sore places. 

There's the blotch on my face, still slightly swollen, turning a green color.

* * *

Taking a suitcase from the closet, I carelessly throw some clothes in, not caring at all whether they wrinkle or not.

* * *

On the dresser, still, is the book. I had thought James would have thrown it in the trash. But, there it is.

My hand caresses over it, "Leonid", whispering his name, choking back a sob.

* * *

For the first time since that night, I leave the bedroom.

* * *

The kitchen smells hit my stomach, and it lurches, but I must eat something.

Brydon is sitting, reading a book and looking at me, he flinches, averting his eyes.

"Yes, Brydon. I will be okay."

He probably had heard my screams from the other night, his bedroom is directly above ours.

* * *

"Brydon, did Mister Moriarty take the carriage?"  
" No, Mister Holmes. Do you want me to take you someplace?"

Pouring myself a cup of coffee, lukewarm, and taking a piece of toast that's sitting on the table, I sit on the edge of a chair. I take two bites of the toast and throw it away.

"Should I make something for you to eat, sir?"  
"No thanks. Can't seem to hold much in my stomach. I would appreciate it if you can drive for me today."  
"Anything you wish, sir.

* * *

Once In the carriage, I tell Brydon to stop at the bank.

* * *

Inside I see the bank manager, Mister Crowley and walk up to him.

His startled look at my mottled face is quickly concealed by the blank-faced mannerisms of a well-trained clerk.

"I need to withdraw this, in cash please," slipping him a withdrawal paper.

I wait, impatiently. He returns, giving me back my slip, "I'm sorry, but you do not have that amount to withdraw, sir."  
"What are you saying? I know I had that much in there two weeks ago! And even more!"  
A very unruffled Mister Crowley answers, "Mister Holmes, you wrote two large checks last week. One for three thousand and one for five. Let me get you the copies," walking back to the office.  
I don't remember writing any checks, particularly in that amount, in the last month.

* * *

"Here, Mister Holmes."  
My eyes focus, unfocus, and my hands shake.  
I stare at the checks, and it's my signature, but I never wrote them.  
Straightening myself up as best I can, pain still uppermost in my body and now even more in my heart.

* * *

"You're right. How silly of me to forget?" rigid outside, but inside feeling murderous.  
What had James done? Why forgery? Why not ask for the money? How could he? 

* * *

This time I won't shed tears. I did this to myself. Everyone warned me, but I didn't listen.

* * *

"Brydon, take me to Mister McNamara's house. You are not to tell Mister Moriarty where I went or that you drove me, understand," putting all the money I have in my pockets into his hands.  
          "Aww, Mister Holmes, I don't want this. I would drive you to the ends of the earth to get away from--," stopping short.  
          " I understand, Brydon. Take the money I give to you. And I thank you for your concern. I won't be going back to that house. You're free to leave. I'll let your employer know you served me well."

* * *

Knocking on the door, Henry McNamara opens it, and stands in shock, staring, as he scans my blotchy cheeks. I don't have to say anything. He knows!

* * *

"Come in Sherlock, come in. Mister Rockefeller and I were about to have early lunch together," the same surprise on Mister Rockefellers face when he sees me, standing up to hug me.

* * *

"Do you want a drink?"  
"No, thanks but some soft food would be wonderful. I haven't been eating well lately."

* * *

Both gentlemen nod, not asking, waiting for me to explain--or not.

* * *

Soup, again! But it's easier to eat that. And some crackers.

* * *

"Do you need to see a physician?" George Rockefeller asks after the dishes have been cleared away.  
"No, it's only bruising. It's already begun to heal."

The air is thick with questions. But they have the patience not to ask unless I begin the telling of it all.

* * *

Sighing deeply,"Yes it was Mister Moriarty. His jealous rages got the best of him this time."  
"You don't have to say anymore. We understand. But how can we help you?"  
" I will not go back to that house, even though I could kick him out. I don't want to face him again. Ever."  
" Will you go to a hotel?"  
"I'm embarrassed to say I have no money. James forged checks, and my bank account is almost empty," and again, the enormity of it all smacks me in the stomach.  
I gag, jump up and rush to the bathroom.

* * *

Mortified by my weakness, I find the gentlemen still in the parlor.  
They both get to their feet when I enter the room.

"Oh god, forgive me, gentlemen. I feel--, Henry taking my arm and leading me to the sofa.  
"No need to apologize, Sherlock. You've been through a lot. Do you want us to call the police?"  
Slumping down in my seat, holding my stomach, still queasy," No, please. Too much attention. Don't want that right now."  
" I have to get back to England. I can't stay in America any longer."

* * *

Henry has his hand to the bell pull, and when his man walks in, "Jeremy, go to the dock, ask when the next boat to England is and purchase," taking bills out of his billfold," a ticket for Mister Sherlock Holmes. Come right back with the information. Do you have that?"

"I can't take money from you!"  
          "Sherlock, we're not worried about that. It's you that is important to us.  
"Now, that's settled. You can stay here until ready to leave. I will make sure that he," emphasizing the 'he' "does not come near you."  
" I will wire your brother--," I interrupt George.  
"No sir, while I appreciate that, I don't want anyone in England to know yet."

* * *

I have reservations on a boat leaving in two days.

* * *

A commotion downstairs wakes me this night, and I know it's James. I hear his voice, yelling loudly, calling my name. Like a little child, I hide in my room, fearful of seeing him now.  


The cessation of sounds relaxes me until a knock on my door has me tense up.  
          "Who is it?"  
"It's Henry. Can I come in?"  
"I'm sure you heard the uproar," stepping into the room," Do you mind if I sit with you a moment?"  
Patting the mattress with my hand, he approaches," He had to be restrained by myself and my servant. Dangerous man. I'm so sorry you-- got involved with him."

* * *

Sighing, as I seem to be doing a lot of lately, "I knew he had a violent side, but never saw the worst until--. He mesmerized me. Everyone tried to warn me, but when you are in love or think it--well," my hands out in a gesture of futility.  
"It's over now. Get back to sleep. See you in the morning."

* * *

I board the boat, my case in hand and extra money from George Rockefeller to take care of my needs when I disembark.

* * *


	26. Back In England

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is back in England and begins to sort out his life

The boat docks in London in the early evening. This crossing was not as calm as the last time. I'm glad I don't get sea sick. That would have made my life unbearable.

* * *

Most of my bodily wounds have healed, but the one to my heart is taking its time.

* * *

I have no house to go to and do not want to face my brother yet.

* * *

I find myself in a situation. I will have to visit Frederick and ask for help.  
The knock on the door is tentative. Not knowing how my reception will be, I wait for the door to open.   
          "Don't announce me, please. Just take me to the Earl," and he complies.

* * *

Frederick is in his chair, dressing gown on, reading.  
Hearing the footfalls he places the book on his lap, and when he sees me, his face lights up, surprise written all over it.

"Oh? Welcome home!"

* * *

A hug, a brief once-over in which I can tell he is assessing everything, including the suitcase, he offers me a drink.

"Whiskey, please," sitting comfortably in the armchair.

* * *

As he's pouring, his back to me, the inevitable question arises," Did Mister Moriarity come back with you?"  
          "He's still in America. It was a disaster. He turned out to be a Jekyll and Hyde."

* * *

All my emotions come to the forefront, I slump down into the chair, trying to hold back tears.  
          "What happened? Or am I not supposed to ask that question?"  
Giving me my drink, he pushes a chair close, our knees touching, and leans forward with his hands on my thighs, simply resting there.  
          "I don't want to talk right now. But here I am. I let my flat go when we left, thinking we'd--. "  


How do I disclose that I need shelter? And would love to stay with him?  
          " You know you're welcome here for as long as you need," his hands rub my thighs in sympathy, guessing what I'm about to ask of him.  
          "Tell you what, I haven't had dinner. I'm sure you could use something right now," taking my hand," I'll have my man bring your suitcase to your room."  
          "Thank you for the offer. I left America without thinking through everything."

* * *

Seated at the dining room table, I know he waits. Right now the food in front of me is more important.

* * *

"Don't tell Mycroft. I don't want him to know I'm here just yet."  
          "Come on Sherlock. You know he'll find out soon enough."

* * *

And how right Frederick is because the very next day Mycroft enters the house.

* * *

"Don't leave me alone with my brother, please."  
"Hello, Mycroft. Have a seat. What brings you here?"  
          "Don't play the innocent with me, Frederick. You know why I'm here," still standing, while I sit trying to ignore him.

"Well, little brother, your adventure turned sour I see," his closed umbrella tapping on my knee.  
          "Please Mycroft, don't make it worse than it is. I feel very idiotic at this moment."  
I can't look him in the eye, or the face for that matter.

With a deep sigh, he asks,"what do you need me for?" finally sitting down, his chair between myself and the Earl.  
"I could use a loan to pay back two people who assisted me. The money will come back to you within a few weeks."  
          "Do I dare ask where all your finances went?"  
          "Mycroft, I think you should leave these type of questions for Sherlock to answer at another time. He's not himself just yet."

So grateful to this wonderful man.

* * *

"No need. I already know."  
The pompous ass!

* * *

"Have you licked your--wounds sufficiently now?  
          " Mister Holmes, if you insist on baiting your brother I will ask you to leave my house!" 

Mycroft, silenced by Frederick, sits still, leaning a hand on his umbrella.

"And who are these illustrious persons? The ones I should be grateful to?"  
          "I think you know one. Henry McNamara and the other is George Rockefeller," smiling with satisfaction. I know Mycroft will be impressed.  
His eyebrows raise, he hesitates, and that damn umbrella knocks on my arm.

"My, little brother, you traveled in high circles very quickly. Encounter Mister McNamara at one of the parties, I suppose?"  
          "Details not necessary Mycroft. Leave it that he helped me out of a terrible situation."  
          "Let me know how much and I will wire the amount to them."  
Rising, turning to go out of the room, he reverses, "Thank you, Frederick, for taking in my sibling."

Frederick nods and doesn't reply to him.

* * *

Before he walks out, he lingers, his back to us.  
His head turns, "come to lunch tomorrow as we do have business to discuss. Serious business," and leaves. Not an invite but a command.

* * *

* * *

At the table, with Mycroft and John, the whole meal has had an awkward silence to it. There's hardly any discussion, with John being the initiator, but it fizzles out quickly.

I'm waiting for Mycroft to being the interrogation.

* * *

Dropping our napkins, meal over, Mycroft leans back in his chair, his smile fake. More a smirk than a smile.  
          " Tell me all of it, Sherlock. I have my suspicions but want to hear it from you. What you may think is infinitesimal could be of value."

* * *

With an impassive face, he listens as I recall James' evenings out, his strange encounter with the woman and other little items I can think of.

* * *

"Do you know anything about his connections to the shipping or drug industries?"  
          "No, I was too busy dealing with the New York police, gathering information for my cases."  
          "And, in gathering that, so-called information, did you ever think to see who was heading up the organizations that you were investigating?"  
Realization hits me like a brick.

* * *

"I'm ashamed to say that I didn't," hanging my head.  
"Too busy with your sex life with him, were you?"  
"Mycroft, that's unfair of you," John steps in.

"He's right. I was so caught up in James that my work suffered. There were days I didn't do anything. I didn't go into the office either," humiliated, disgusted with myself.

* * *

"Your adventures were well known. You were so besotted with him that all could witness it. The talk of the town, you two were."  
          "Mycroft, would you stop this! There's no reason to continue along this line," John's voice has grown louder, stronger.

He's upset and I feel his sympathy towards me.

* * *

"Now, dear brother, let me relate to you what, that --what Moriarty was doing. And still is." 

* * *

Straightening up, his back stiffly held, Mycroft gives me an account of Moriarty's illegal dealings.

* * *

How immature I was, not noticing the goings on around me.

* * *

"He will be extradited. Fraud, embezzlement and drug trafficking."  
          " Don't tell me when or where please," eyes cast down. Mycroft's voice has me looking at him,"You aren't harboring any more fondness for this, this--"  
          "No, just don't want to hear about it."  
In reality, my heart lurches and stomach rolls.

* * *

Sherlock, what is going on with this? Why do you still--? You know what he is, how he treated you and yet--.

* * *

Frederick, ever helpful, caring in all ways, as I stay a guest in his house.  
We have lost the sexual play. I don't ask him why. And it's for the best because I require that distance.

* * *

One evening, late, I'm having tea in the kitchen. Frederick is out with friends.

The servant hands me a paper, folded in three. I gasp!

* * *


	27. He Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty returns to England

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short chapter but a major character dies

Opening it up, my hands are shaking so much the paper falls to the floor. Picking the missive up, I reread it, my heart fluttering dangerously fast.

* * *

_Sherlock, In England. Escaped police. Come to the gazebo in the park now. Must talk._

* * *

No, no. not going! I keep repeating this litany over and over in my head. My hands covering my face, I can't.  
I won't.  
I'm not his anymore.  
Sherlock, you're a fool!  
You know you're going to meet him. Him with those dark, dark eyes.

* * *

It's twenty to twelve. I know it takes ten minutes to walk to the park.

* * *

I open the door, walk up to the sidewalk, turn, and go back into the house.  
It's no use.  
I always find myself, drawn like a moth to a flame, hungry for him.  
A cord stretched between us.  
He tugs and pulls and drags me back to him .

* * *

My legs are trembling. No, it's my whole being trembling

"Psst, over here," his voice, even in a whisper is known to me. 

The shadowy outline of his figure, leaning against the white structure, legs spread, arms out, inviting

* * *

Against anything I know to be right, my body reacts. My brain drops away; my heart jumps in its place.

* * *

Snatching him to me, gripping him tightly, I hear the beating of his heart, fast, as mine is fast.

* * *

The past is forgotten, not even to be spoken of at this moment.

* * *

His hands comb through my hair, down to my cheeks,"those cheeks, oh my god, how I love them! How I love you!"

"James, your eyes, your dark eyes."

He steps away from me, pulls from his pocket a jumble of papers.

"Look," in the dim light, holding up the papers,"I have two tickets to take us by train to Scotland, then we catch a boat to Denmark, and we're safe. Together."

* * *

I hear clicking sounds from somewhere behind me, and bright lights turn on, attacking us with blinding force.   
The glare in our eyes so harsh it's hard to see anything.  
My hands lift, shielding my face, trying to see past the shine of the lights.

There's yelling, many men's voices, very loud. There are horses whinnying. There's chaos!

* * *

"We're the New York police. Put your hands up Moriarty. Don't try anything, don't run. We're taking you in."

* * *

Confused by all the commotion I keep turning my head to see more clearly.  
To get away from those damn lights.

Police! Lots of them! On and off horseback!

Out of the blaze of the strongest floodlight, a police wagon. And standing by the door is Mycroft!   
He has his gun held in two hands pointed forward--at us.  
"Sherlock," he yells, heard amidst all the noise, "step away. Run towards me."

* * *

"No, Mycroft, no! No, don't, please don't," my arms out, hands bent up, a pleading gesture.

James pulls me closer to him, tight against his body.

* * *

" I've got your brother Mycroft. Don't you dare do anything hasty."  
Is he using me as his shield?  
Is he willing to have me die instead of him, or does he want both of us to go?  
A deluge of emotions, a dozen questions, but all stop with my need to push away from him

He stumbles off to one side, and amidst the clamor I hear Mycroft's voice shout, "run Sherlock, run."

I stand still, unable to move as if possessed, confused, conflicted.

* * *

I hear the gunshots, some close, the whizzing noise sounding in my ears.  
Shouting, screaming, horses whinnying, footfalls on grass.

I see James stumble, stumble again, holding his hands against his chest, falling, twisting, and lying on his back in the grass.  
Lying there, not moving.  
Lying there, next to me still standing, watching as the blood pours out from his chest.

* * *

It's me, me screaming, "you killed him, you killed him," crawling, scrambling over to cover his body with mine, shielding him from any onslaught.

* * *

"James, James, wake up. I'll go with you. To Denmark. To anywhere. Don't die," cradling him, rocking him in my arms like I would a baby.  
Sobbing into his neck," Don't die. Please don't leave me. I promise--."  
Dimly I hear Mycroft, right beside us, "Sherlock, get up. He's dead."

* * *

My head rises, from the body to face him--the killer.  
          "You killed him, "I scream up at him, "You shot him. You murderer," my tears, my whimpering turns to a wail.

* * *

          "James, James. Answer me, wake up," my fingers in his hair, his dark, dark eyes closed.

* * *

A hand grasps my sleeve, "Fuck off, you bastard," shrugging the offending hand away, only for it to come back.

I can barely hear anything, anyone else, so wrapped up in my own emotions.

* * *

"Sherlock, it's John. John Watson. Let me look at James. Let's see if he's breathing," his voice tranquil.  
"I want to go, go with him. Want to die with him," holding his head up, on my knees, rocking us both.  
My murmuring in his ear, "love you, come back, it's going to be good, come back." 

I vaguely know someone is down on his knees next to us, touching my James. I'm pushing him away.  
          "Sherlock, it's John, John Watson. Let James go. Let me try to see if he's alive."  
At the word alive, I bring into focus John's face, kind, quiet. 

          "We're taking him to the hospital." 

Gently taking James' body out of my control, John and a policeman lift James and place him on a stretcher, and he goes out of my sight.

* * *

"Let me take you to the hospital. Come," John's hand outstretched, lifting me up. I see Mycroft close to me.  
I jerk away from him," You son of a bitch. You planned this. You tricked me," my spittle hitting his face.  
          "Mycroft. Let me take care of Sherlock. You leave. Please," Johns tone brooks no questioning.

Mycroft backs away. 

I'm dimly aware of the lights going out, the sounds quieting as everyone leaves.

* * *

I blindly follow John into a carriage, and as we drive away I notice, even in the little light shining through the window, the blood on my clothes and my hands.  
          "No, no, this isn't--!" reaching for the door handle, pushing it down, the door swinging open.  
          " What the fuck, no," John, reaching over me to close the door. He's straddling me, as I struggle to get out.  
I feel a jab, a pinprick in my arm. Suddenly I'm dizzy and the lights dim and--.

* * *

I'm awake, lying on my stomach, aware now that I'm in a bed. Not in the hospital, but a bedroom.  
Not wearing my regular clothes, but something from the waist down, baggy.  
I try to raise my head, and everything spins. My head carefully goes back on the pillow, waiting for the dizziness to subside.

* * *

          " Where am I?" head turned to one side,"John sitting in a chair, reading a book.  
          "You're in my bedroom in Mycroft's' house. I gave you a sedative to calm you down. Knocked you out."  
          "Can I have a glass of water?" still feeling weak, I slowly turn and sit, the vertigo almost gone. Looking down at my hands, I face the reality, "He's dead, isn't he?"  
          "Yes, Sherlock, he is," handing me the glass.

Taking it I hurl the glass with all my frustration in the thrust, and it hits the wall, shattering it, the liquid spraying all over.

* * *

"Are you done?" Standing over me, hands on his hips.

* * *

He's so even-tempered. It makes me even more upset.  
"Get me out of here, please. Let me alone. I want to die. To be with him."  
I jump up and out of the bed and race for the door.  
Arms around my waist, from the back, he lifts me and shoves me to the floor, sitting on me.

* * *

"Now you will listen to me! You will get back in that bed and lie there, do you understand? None of this nonsense from you anymore. If you continue, I'll--" stepping off and away from me.  
Slowly standing, as if accepting, I find John in my way, a barricade at the door.

* * *

Making my way to the bed, my frustration boils, and I knock everything off the nightstand. I pick up the desk chair and prepare to throw it at the window when something jabs in my rear.

"Noooo, nooo," the chair taken out of my hands before I black out.

* * *

Morning!

* * *

I can tell by the light streaming from the window. No one is in the room with me.  
Dressing quickly, I slowly open the door, peeking out and all is still.  
Tiptoeing down the stairs, I can hear Mycroft and John in the dining room. Their voices almost inaudible.  
I step outside and run down the street to catch a taxi, giving the driver the address of Bart's Hospital.

* * *

I've never been upstairs at the morgue and have to ask the receptionist.  
I take the elevator up and open the doors. A young woman in the typical white coat turns to me, puzzled. It's not every day that a citizen comes into this room.

* * *

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft's' brother. He wanted me to take notes on the wounds of Mister James Moriarty. Can you find him for me?"  
          "This is most unusual, but since it's for Mister Holmes think we can accommodate you. Give me a second," picking up a board off a desk; she scrolls through papers.

* * *

" Heres what I need. Can you sign this? It's a release. Lets the doctors know who has seen the body."

* * *

Scribbling my signature, she walks to the bank of drawers, sees the number, checks her paperwork and pulls it out.  
She removes the sheeting from his body but only to his neck.  
"It's pretty bad at the chest area. If you wish to draw the sheet further down, you can. I'll leave you to your work," walking out of the room.

* * *

* * *

And here he is, pale, very pale. He looks asleep. Those dark, dark eyes closed to me.

* * *

His face is clean but for a bullet mark that grazed his forehead and shaved a line in his hair.  
I cover it by taking my thumb and index finger and together working a lock of his hair over. A curl, looking very natural.

* * *

Whispering to him, almost afraid if I spoke too loud he'd wake, and be upset with me.  
          "Dear, dear James. What fun we would have had in Denmark. You always loved the cold weather, but even more so the wind. I remember those days.   
You'd stand outside, arms spread wide, turning round and round, and laughing. The wind, you would say, cleans you, your soul, " taking a breath, trying so hard not to tear up.

* * *

"Did you have a soul, my lover?"  
My finger touches the cheek, feeling the cold that's seeped into him.

* * *

" Did you love me or was I one of your games? Your toy? Sex toy?" leaning down, pressing my lips to his forehead.

* * *

"We would have played in the snow like little children. Imagine being naked, at night and having sex, lying in the cold, wet snow. That would be another game we could try.", laughing at the image.  
          "We'd have to get warm coats and those stupid jumpers. I don't like jumpers," chuckling.  
"And how about a goose down comforter for our bed. Wrapping ourselves up in one of them? Or taking it by the fireplace and sleeping on the floor, the comforter encasing us like a cocoon."

* * *

I hear the door swing open, and in the doorway is the two of them.  
Mycroft and John.  
The sheet I carefully pull back over James' face, whispering, so only I and the corpse hear, 'goodbye,' turn to face them. 

* * *

Without acknowledging them, looking neither left or right, I plow through them, shoving, open the door, and walk out. 

Back to the house.

* * *

I feel so quiet inside now. At peace with myself. In the library I grab a book that I had been wanting to read, slouch down in a chair and wait for them.

Both men enter the library almost jostling to see who can move to me before the other.  
Mycroft is first, leans in with a hand on each arm of the chair, close enough to me so that our noses almost touch.  
          "What a fool you are? You have--,"  
John is beside the chair, "Mycroft, I suggest you leave Sherlock and leave the room. If I have to restrain you, now, I will."  
Mycroft looks at him, glares him down, but moves his hands away from the chair, and like a soldier does an about face, and strides off.  
John sighs, " I'll let you alone at the moment," follows Mycroft out the door. The book sits in my lap, forgotten.

* * *


	28. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is trying to help Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from John's point of view

Again I felt the need to sedate Sherlock!

* * *

Descending the steps, maybe to make some tea for me, I spy out of the corner of my eye, Mycroft in the parlor, reading the newspaper.  
Still in a three-piece suit, looking as if he just stepped into it.

* * *

It is still the early morning of this horrible night.

* * *

I have to go in, to observe him. How is he holding up? 

* * *

He takes the paper away from his face and folds it carefully, each crease equal," I heard unsettling sounds from upstairs."  


Plopping exhausted in my chair, "Right now he still thinks he's in love with-- him. Wanting to kill you and himself.  


Stretching out my limbs,"I had to give him Chloral Hydrate in a small dose. I don't want to keep doing this. Not good for his system."

* * *

"Why are you using the phrase, he still thinks he's in love with him?"  
"Mycroft, he's battle-scarred."  
"Why did he go to him in the park? I thought after the abuse he would--.  
" I'm surprised you can't understand that."  
"Sentiment doesn't sit well with me, John."  
" An abused victim will quickly forget his abuse and forgive his abuser. Sherlock was seventeen and James was his first love. You separated them, and to Sherlock, you are to blame for his losing James.  
          " And you're saying that is his resentment of me over the years.  
          "Sherlock had no confidence in himself. He was told by everyone, including you, that he couldn't do anything right. James was smart, witty, confident. All the things Sherlock wanted to be."  
Wiping my face, pinching my nose, the stress and the late night taking a toll.

* * *

"Sherlock built James up to be a god. And every time James messed up Sherlock would only make excuses, but couldn't let his idol off that pedestal.  
          "What about Frederick?"  
          " I think, and I'm only guessing, Frederick, being who he is, has become a father figure, albeit also his lover."  
          "John, I do know of someone else in America. I haven't gotten much information on this affair. It was short-lived."  
          "He'll come around, Mycroft. He needs time.  
          " I feel concerned for him. So troubled about what I have caused him to become.  
          "Let's not worry about that. One step at a time."

* * *

Stretching my arms out, my body stiff from the nights excursion I say to Mycroft, "get upstairs and rest. We've had a tough night."  
Out of the chair, he starts to leave the room,"Should I try to discuss with him what--"

"No, Mycroft. Not yet. I even think you should make yourself scarce. He doesn't need a reminder of tonight," running my hand through my hair. 

* * *

          "I'm going to keep him in my room. I'll sleep in the armchair. "

Seeing the suffering this older brother is going through is terrifying.  
A good man! Cares so much, too much about his brother.  
I have begun to see the warm interior beneath his cold, piercing gaze, and three-piece suits.

* * *

My head leans back on the headrest, and before I go up to my bedroom I think about where my life is heading.

* * *

In three weeks my clinic will be opening. My staff picked and all ready to go.

* * *

I'm also supposed to inspect two flats next week. Mycroft has been very patient with me, and it's time to live on my own.

* * *

Right now, however, my first concern is Sherlock. 

* * *

That beast of a man beat him severely, cheated on him with men and women, swindled his money, mainly played him for a fool.  
And yet, he would, and yes he almost took him back. Would have traveled with him to Denmark.  
I never imagined Sherlock needed someone to love so very much that he'd allow a dysfunctional person to rule his life.

* * *

But in knowing the background to this story, it's easy to see what went wrong. If Mycroft had kept James at the university with Sherlock, the affair would probably have ended on it's own.

* * *

Someone is shaking me, and wake up to see Mycroft over me, his hand on my shoulder.

" John, you fell asleep in this chair. It's morning."  
          " Oh, what? Oh yes. I'm worn out. I had best be upstairs. He should wake soon. If he's not already awake."  
"We should let the Earl know what has happened. He must be worried because Sherlock isn't at his house.  
"Good thought. Send one of the servants over."  
Pulling myself up, " Better yet, ask the Earl to come here."

* * *

Sherlock is still sleeping. Sitting next to him, looking at his face, so young, and so old. Young in years and now old in experience.

* * *

We all have our experiences. And mine is deep and grim also. 

* * *

I have to laugh at the circumstances that brought me to the professor and then to Mycroft.

* * *


	29. Prequel-John Changes Addresses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prequel-About John-his beginnings  
> a short chapter.

Thinking to those days. Those days when I was a student and graduating from university.

* * *

Days when I was confused about going home--home to an abusive alcoholic father.

My older sister claims he has laid off the booze but my memories of the beatings, the raised voices still haunt me.

* * *

With the little money I have I rent a one-room apartment.

* * *

I was looking for a position as a doctor at either a clinic or Barts Hospital. Money was short, and I was doling out the change very carefully.

* * *

I had finished an interview at Barts hospital and went to the bathroom.  
I was washing my hands and had placed the application for the hospital on the counter.

* * *

"Are you a doctor?"  
"Yes. And looking for a job and a place to bunk. I have one room, and it's depressing."  
"I could offer you a room in my house. I think it a shame that a young man like you has to be in such a frightful position.  
"Are you a doctor?"  
"Heavens no! I'm a professor at the local university and teach here twice a week. Subject? The history of medicine.

* * *

Stepping out into the hall, he hands me his card, "I'll be in this evening. Around four? And we can talk more," walking away.

* * *

His house is small, located within walking distance of either the university or the hospital.

* * *

After an hour with the old gentleman, we shake hands and agree to a situation that pleases both of us.

I soon find that this is his usual modus operandi. He is not a predator but likes young men around him. I imagine it makes him feel virile. 

* * *

Moving in requires very little trouble. I have so few possessions.

* * *

Within weeks I discover he's very possessive of me, wanting my company almost constantly. At first, I'm ill at ease, thinking it will lead to his bed, but he's not that kind.  
To my surprise, the old man loves pretending he's gay. Not in an open way but, by attending the gay parties that he never participates in, most times going upstairs by himself.

* * *

To be openly gay is to invite prison time, and he's not about that. I guess he likes being with that type of man.

* * *

A plus to this relationship is in being introduced to the wider world. To the men, I would never meet in my little one-room apartment. Men of wealth, men of position.

* * *

I've been intrigued by Mycroft Holmes after meeting him one evening at one of these damn fan parties.  
Stiff, formal, hardly a smile. Gay? Yes! But one would never know it.  
He holds himself apart from everyone. 

* * *

A visit up the stairs with one of the gentlemen, and down again with not a hair ruffled.

* * *

One evening while the professor is out of the room Mycroft approaches me.

"John Watson. You are going to be a brilliant doctor if only you can sever your connection with your current patron. He will not aid you in any way. He will soon be confined to prison if the arm of the law has anything to say about it."  
          "Oh, that is news to me!" shocked to think this old man is engaged in any illegal activities.  
          " I will offer the same advantages as him, but, with me, you will achieve your goals.  
          " And what do you mean by advantages? What do you think--?" 

Holding up his hand, he stops me,"I am not asking you to copulate, but to live with me in my house. You'll have your bedroom and be free to come and go as you wish. That's all I ask."  
          "No, there is more isn't there?"  
          "You are perceptive, Doctor Watson," his rare smile lighting his face up. "Yes, there is more. I recognize a certain, shall I say, chemistry between my brother Sherlock and you. I'd like to foster that."

* * *

At one fan party, I met Sherlock Holmes, and we had quite a nice evening, just chatting. I felt that pull that one feels when an attraction is there.

* * *

          "Seems your brother is not interested. We met once, and since then he hasn't kept in touch."  
          "Believe me he is! I know my brother very well. I've taken care of him for years. Watched over him."

* * *

It was easy to make the needed arrangements to leave the professor. He was embroiled in his particular situation and had no time to protest my going. 

* * *

Within two months I was living under Mycroft's roof.

* * *


	30. The Morning and Afternoon After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are still high between the brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johns point of view

I'm upstairs and sitting in my chair next to the bed, watching Sherlock sleep. 

* * *

What a horror! To watch someone, someone you love, die most horribly and in front of you.

* * *

He was brought up here, covered in blood. Laying an old blanket on the floor, Mycroft and I placed him on it.

" Mycroft, do step out. I'm going to strip him and wash him. I don't think he'd like the idea of you seeing him nude."  
Mycroft has pajamas that fit Sherlock, and I put him in only the bottoms, call Mycroft back to help me deposit him on the bed.

* * *

I can see why men fawn over him. Those sharp, delineated cheeks, bones falling out like overhanging cliff faces.

* * *

He stirs, turns from his stomach to his back, opens his eyes, takes notice of me, and gets up on his elbow.

"I'd like something to eat and drink? I'm very weak and hungry. It's almost the afternoon isn't it?"  
Relief floods me, standing and opening the door, "I'll look to see what I can round up."  
" Yes, you Can I go downstairs?" his feet over onto the floor.  
"Not yet. I don't like the idea of you walking down the steps," hesitating at the door.  
"Get someone to help. I would rather eat in the kitchen. I'd feel more human."  
"Just hold on while I go down."

He trains those hazel eyes on me, " Mycroft is up," standing up on his own shaky feet. He'll go whether helped or not.

* * *

"Okay, okay. But you will restrain yourself and wait, please. Do not attempt the steps without Mycroft and me. I'll be right back."

* * *

Mycroft follows me up to find Sherlock sitting on the top step.  
"You're right. I'm too weak to do this alone."

* * *

Our arms under his shoulders he lets our weight take him down, a step at a time, and into the kitchen.

* * *

I've taken out a pan and three eggs, ready to crack the eggs, and there's a sudden commotion behind me.

Oh shit!  
>Sherlock has Mycroft on the floor, hands on his throat, a deep growl emanating from the younger man. Mycroft's grasping at Sherlock's hands, " Get away from me," his voice already raspy.  
With my fingers, I grab a fistful of Sherlock's curly hair, and I pull up. Sherlock yells, letting go of his brother.  
Mycroft is quickly up on his feet, brushing himself off, and in the next instant slaps his brother across the face.  
Sherlock lunges, but I've got him around the waist and barely manage to pull him away.

* * *

"Both of you will stop and right now!"   
" Mycroft, go into the parlor. Sherlock, you sit right here. If either of you tries to jump the other, I'll not hesitate in sedating."

* * *

We're all overtired and way too emotional.

* * *

I had taken my medical bag with me into the kitchen. My back is to Sherlock, and just for the hell of it I prep a needle, just in case.

* * *

Eggs, bacon, and warm sourdough bread, and tea are on the table. I watch Sherlock dig right in.

* * *

Leaving him to eat in quiet I step into the parlor. Mycroft is dousing off, his light snores giving him away. None of us have gotten enough sleep. Emotions were too high.

Touching his shoulder, shaking him, he jumps awake.

" Why not go back to bed for a nap? The Earl to join us for the afternoon. "  
          " I think a shower is beneficial, more than the bed."

* * *

Sherlock, to my surprise, has finished all of the food in front of him.  
" I'd like to shower and put some clothes on. I'm sure Mycroft has already ordered some for me. "  
Chuckling to him, "you're right. And they are in the bedroom next to mine."

* * *

Thinking this shower idea might be another ruse to hurt himself, I agree, but silently stand by the bathroom, door partly open, listening for any unusual sounds.

* * *

The water shuts off, and I step away into the bedroom.

* * *

He's not even got a towel on him!  
My breath catches, and I walk to the window, eyes on the street.  
"You can't tell me you've never witnessed a nude man before? You're a doctor!"  
          "If you are trying to set me up for something--"  
          " John, the male form is not one to be ashamed of. The Greek and Roman statues--"  
          " Don't start! This has been--. Anyway, a lecture on anything is not what I'm interested in right now," a sigh.  
          "Then turn to look at me."

What is he planning? Why is he doing this?

As I circle slowly around, I'm determined not to shy away.  
And hell, damn it!  
He is so like those statues.  
I can't keep myself from glimpsing his penis, right now limp but--.

I can't figure him out and right now don't care to.

* * *

When he's finished dressing and out of my room, I take a shirt and trousers out and take a shower myself.

* * *

Sherlock strides back into my bedroom as I'm combing my hair, all set to step downstairs.

"Oh," Sherlock exclaims, and I stop to look.  
He has that French Cinderella book in hand," I almost forgot. I did take it with me. Leonid." talking to himself.

There must be a most engrossing tale about Sherlock and this book. Someday I might hear this story.

* * *


	31. Trying To Begin Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Frederick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Sherlock's point of view. a short chapter

Afternoon? Already?

* * *

I do feel my body is on the mend. The doorbell rings, and I'm standing in the hallway to see who it is.

* * *

"When you didn't return to the house, I worried. But Mycroft sent a note that you were here. What happened?"  
Fredericks entrance is so welcomed by me, enveloping him in my arms.

I take a sharp breath in and quickly move away. I don't deserve to touch him.  


"Don't bother with the niceties, Earl. I'm well aware of what you must think of me."

I turn my back on him and head into the sitting room.  
The Earl follows me.  


John walks into the room, overhearing that last remark," Is it all right if I stay?"  


The Earl motions for John to sit next to me on the sofa and takes the chair across from us.

* * *

There's an awful hush, uncomfortable. The events from the past days and weeks sitting there between us.

* * *

"No one wants to talk about it? Maybe I should leave. Let you talk behind my back," up on my feet, John's hand pulling me back to him.  


"We don't have to say anything about that--, that is, if you don't want to," the Earl leans forward, hands clasped.

* * *

          "Change of subject. I'd like to invite you all to my house," raising his hand up to stop me from saying no.  
          "Not for a party but a plain, simple dinner. Just the four of us."  
My head snaps up, "Whos the fourth?"  
The Earl looks confused, first at me, then at John," I'm talking about you, myself, John and your brother, Mycroft."  
          "No, not him," rising, I run out of the room, John yelling after me.

* * *

I'm in the hall, head down on the railing, and feel John's presence beside me, a hand on my shoulder.  


Conflicting emotions. Can't quite sort them out.  
"Sherlock, go back into your guest. We'll go to dinner, and without Mycroft. All right?"  
Shrugging my shoulders I go in, and John does not follow.

* * *

Sitting on the sofa, I'm afraid to look Frederick in the eyes. I know he is going to tell me I'm wrong.

He clears his throat, "My friend, I can still call you that can't I?"  
          "I know exactly what you're going to say. You don't want me as your lover. You're ashamed of me.  
          "Stop this right now! I'm not ashamed of you! I want to be your friend. You've had enough drama in your life.  
          "See? No sex!"  
Sighing deeply, he continues," Look! We had fun together. Right?"  
Not saying anything he sighs again, "There is no reason why we can't--have a go at it again. But I'd rather, as much as I enjoyed our romps, be a friend only."  
          "You've got someone else."  
          "Sherlock, that's not the point! And for your edification, no, there is no one else."  
          "Okay," clasping his hands together," let's agree to this. Right now, for the moment, let's keep it friendly. If you want to enjoy my company in another way, let me know. How's that?"  
Nodding my consent our discussion turns to mostly gossip about the men who were at his parties.

* * *

"The hour grows late and I know you must be tiring. No, don't say otherwise, I see it in your face."

Frederick leans in to cuddle me aware of my still bruised body, "to solid friends anytime," he whispers in my ear.

* * *

"Now, Sherlock would you like something to eat?" John says, approaching me in the hall.  
          "Still playing the doctor are we?"  


He's hurt by that comment, and I absentmindedly rub his back, startling him by my gesture.

* * *

Sitting out in the backyard the next day, the sun is out, and I'm trying to read. I can't do it. Covering my face with my hands.

The specter of that night, the sound of the bullets whistling by still reverberates within me.  
Will I ever know peace?  
Deep inside, my intellectual side berates me for the abuse I took at James' hands.  
But, what about that foolish part? The heart!  
Why do I recollect only the good, the merry parts, the sex games?  
I shudder, desire a small part of it, every time I need to urinate.

Remember that explosive night at the laboratory at the university, he said? Let's recreate it! And we did!

* * *

But always there-- the horror of the last time we saw one another at university!

* * *


	32. The Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and James get caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gay name calling, cursing.

It had been a distressing last few weeks.

* * *

James and I had such fluctuating schedules and because of that our moments together were so brief.

* * *

A snog in a deserted hallway, a quickie in one of the classrooms at night and even a daytime friction-rubbing, clothes on, in a janitors closet.

Even to spending some time in my dorm room became one hell of a challenge.

* * *

We do see one another in our classrooms, and in the halls. But to be alone is tough. And it annoys. Why does it have to be sinful for us to love one another?

* * *

Maths class for today is over, and I delay going to the next session. Standing in the hall waiting for James, but the professor calls him over to his desk.  
Waiting for him now is not a good idea.

* * *

I leave and walk down the hall to the lavatory. No one is in there and in frustration, I punch the wall. Punch it hard enough to hurt. Damn!  
Rubbing it and putting it under the cold water, the door opens--standing there is James.  
It seems like my smile goes from one side of my face to another.

* * *

"Good, we're finally fucking alone."  
Grabbing me close and kissing me with his tongue already engaged in my mouth, I eagerly follow him.  
          "We shouldn't. Not here James," my body is as eager as his. My cock swelled.  
          "Come on. I've been sitting behind you today thinking about your ass," his hand squeezing it.  
          "Do you know, Mister Holmes, how hard it is when you are freaking coming in your pants and stay quiet, so the kids don't hear me?"  
          "You didn't?" his bum in my hand, aching to feel his bare skin.  
          "Not this time. But last week, my fucking love, I imagined you on the floor, sucking me off. Right there."  
          "Oh god, I'm hard, too damn hard!" Please do something!"  
          "Into the stall, quick!"  
Opening the door, our trousers, and pants down around our ankles we're rubbing, stroking. All else forgotten except our need, our craving.

* * *

It's seconds, and we've both spent ourselves. Our pubic hairs drip, and the sticky liquid is on our trousers.

* * *

The door to the lavatory opens, and it freezes us. Holding our breaths.

* * *

I hear the water run and the words of our maths professor,"Oh my god! Who is in there?"  
He shakes the door, banging on it.  
"Come out you faggots! I'll break down the door if I have to. Come on, I can see from underneath. You've got your trousers down. Have you fucked yet? Beasts! Come out!  
The door is rattled, banged on again.

"Fags, fucking, stinking whores. Pick up those pants and let me who you perverts are."

* * *

"If you don't come out I'll call the police and have them drag you into the streets for everyone to see."  


We're both shaking, shivering with fright.

James leans down, draws his trousers up, buttoning them, and I follow, fingers having a hard time with the buttons.  
James opens the door, and the professor steps back.

"You? And Mister Holmes? So the quiet, studious one is the biggest fucking faggot of all!   
"Pieces of shit! Not worth being in this university."   
His fists ball up, "get into my classroom and don't you move. Don't either of you think of running. "

* * *

          "This is the end of us, James. When my brother finds out-oh god!" slumping to the floor to sit, hands over my face.  
          " We can't go to prison, Sherlock. We're only seventeen," joining me, taking my hand in his.

* * *

An eternity passes until the professor opens the door," Into the dean's office. If I had my way, you'd be beaten with a whip. Freaks!"

* * *

Walking down the hallway with the older man behind us, it appears word has somehow spread.  
Most of the boys don't look at us, others spit, and still others use all the foul language I know.

* * *

The professor doesn't stop any of the vitriol thrown our way.

* * *

In the office we are separated, a glass partition the only way we see one another.  
We meet with our eyes often. I even stand up, close to the glass and mouth, I love you, to him.

* * *

An hour or so later in walks Mycroft and James parents.  
James' father leans toward me raising his arm as if to punch me.  
Mycroft catches it, motions toward his son.  
"I'll take care of my brother. You see to your son."  
The father gives him a dirty look and walks around the partition to his son.  


Mycroft, steps to me,"stand up."  
I do, trembling.  
His hand reaches around his body and comes flat against my face. Almost spinning me around.  
The stinging cheek I cover with my hand, tears leaping out of my eyes.

* * *

I see a similar situation occurring with James and his father.

"You will come with me. Not a sound, not a whimper, not a word," turning on his heel.  
At that very moment, James and I glance through the partition and nod. An affirmation of our love.

* * *

That's the last time I see James Moriarty.

* * *

I'm led to Mycroft's carriage, almost pushed in by him and we take off.

His umbrella beats a rhythm on the floor, his lips pursed, his eyes avoiding me.  
My eyes downcast, my stomach in a whirl. I'm scared, but also ready to cry. I want to be in James' arms.

* * *

"You will spend a few days at my house. I will write an excuse that you've taken sick, and I had to bring you to my house to mend."  
"What about James?"  
Leaning across to where I'm sitting he slaps my cheek, "You will never speak of him again. Never try to find him."  
I rock back and forth in the seat, my tears silent, unfallen.

* * *

He had James pulled out of the university, and I later found out to a smaller college way across the country.

* * *

I had to attend the same university without my love to help me bear up to the abuse that followed me around.

* * *

I had no friends. Rumors abounded, and I was shunned by most of the students.

* * *

I turned to the world of cocaine.

* * *

And here I am, again in Mycroft's' house. At Mycroft's' hands. And my lover is dead!


	33. An Unexpected Invite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who invites Sherlock and where?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short chapter

"Sherlock," John calling out," you have a packet just arrived."/br> A packet? From who?

* * *

Stepping into the library, John hands me a thick brown envelope, the size of a large book.  
Tearing it open at the edge my heart jumps, I breath in sharply. White tissue paper, and surrounding the item with a red bow.

Leonid!

* * *

" If it's very personal, I will leave you alone," already almost out the door.  
          "No, you can stay," sitting on the edge of a chair, reluctant to open it further.

* * *

I stare at it. Why would Leonid send me a gift? Nothing has passed between us since that beautiful, enchanted evening.

* * *

John, still unsure as to his welcome stands in the doorway, waiting.  
          "Sit. I've got nothing to hide."

* * *

I carefully undo the ribbon, tear the wispy paper off, and before going any further, the smell of roses hits the air.  
Another envelope. I open it, and a pressed red rose appears.  
"mmmm," the scent takes me back to the room full of roses. And the man!

* * *

"Sherlock? Is everything good?" a whisper brings me out of my journey into the past.

I know how he worries about adverse reactions to anything regarding--him.

* * *

"Yes, John. I have great memories of roses. Too wonderful to imagine!"

* * *

Digging further into the envelope there are two tickets to the ballet for this Saturday night.  
I need not read it to see who's the lead dancer.  
And, folded up is a white paper with a red rose embossed at the corner.  
Opening it, a note written, a letter from a ballet dancer who swept me up in a romantic evening, unlike anything I've ever known.  
Taking a whiff of the red rose, setting it on the seat of the chair I read the message.

* * *

_My Cinderella,_

_Your misfortune has reach my ears. Don't fret. I send tickets. Please come. We talk. I wish to see lovely face again._

* * *

I didn't realize I had read it out loud, until John walks over, his hand on my shoulder, massaging in a caring way.  
"Leonid. A ballet dancer I met in the States. Russian."  
I refrain from looking at John and instead concentrate on the carpeted floor.

          "Would you like to accompany me to the ballet?"   
A wisp of tears, my voice low and thick, I show him the tickets.  
          "Of course," walking out to leave me to recapture that night in my head, and heart.

* * *


	34. The Ballet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful Leonid and the Ballet

I'm skittish, acting like a teen while trying to dress for this evenings' entertainment. 

* * *

John has taken his clothing into the other bedroom to dress and laughs at the mess he sees when entering his bedroom.

I'm still in underwear, clothes carelessly thrown on the bed, floor and chair.

" What in the world--? Do you need help?"  
          "Why would I need help dressing," irked, "do I look like a child to you?"  
          "You're certainly behaving like one," his hand spreads out to show me the mess I've made.

* * *

I've pulled out almost all my trousers and shirts and can't settle on something suitable for tonight.

"I meant help in picking out an outfit. You're having a hell of a time, I see, "collecting items on the floor, planting them on the crowded bed.  
Sighing, "I do need assistance thank you. What would you suggest?"  
He rummages around and from my bed picks up my forest green trousers, holding them out.  
          "No, those would be better," pointing to the tight black trousers.  
          " Now, really, Sherlock?" his surprise at my choice.

John would never, ever wear something that revealing.

* * *

I've not entirely forgotten I wore those that night. The night of the dinner and seduction.

My mint green silk shirt is in his hands, and shaking it out he hands it to me.  
          "Here, this shows off your eyes."

* * *

All through this John has not a word to say about the who or what of Leonid.

* * *

Trousers and shirt on, John selects a black vest. I shake my head no.  
          "No vest."  
Not waiting for John I take up my dark green coat.

Staring back at myself in the full-length mirror I nod approval.  
I prefer Leonid only to see me in good spirits, not morose.

I've lost weight, but it only emphasized my lean body now.

* * *

"No John, no tie. I'll wear my shirt open at the neck."  
          "Sherlock, this is a formal--."  
          "Yes, yes, I know what it is, but that's what I want to do," looking around," where's my cane?" suddenly tense.

I don't know why. What do I expect from Leonid? Will he be full of contempt for me? No! If that the case he would avoid any contact.

* * *

"Simmer down Sherlock, everything will be good. Your cane is right by the closet door. What about a hat, if not a vest. I know. You don't like hats because of your hair. I love your hair the way it is. But, for the ballet, a hat is in order," picking up the hat from the top shelf in the closet.  
I give in. I will not wear it. Hold it in my hand.

* * *

Fully dressed, turning this way and that, to make sure everything is in place, John laughs,"You'd think you were dressing for--," stops and leaves it alone.

* * *

We have box seats to the right of the stage, and we're the only occupants. A server brings champagne and hors-d'oeuvres for us. I take a flute glass and don't touch the pastries.

* * *

John is on my right, whispering, "over there, a member of Parliament. Someone we know, from where I don't remember. Do you"  
          "Oh, look whos seated in the front row! Isn't that some big name actor?"

* * *

I know what he's up to; trying to keep me composed, and I appreciate his effort.

* * *

I inhale deeply when the lights go low, and the orchestra begins the overture.  
The curtain slowly makes its way up, and after what is an eternity to me, Leonid dances onto the stage.  
My breath hitches, my body stiffens.  
I want to cry out, to join him on the stage!  
To dance with him!  
To love him!  
My focus, my entire being is locked onto him.

* * *

John has his gloved hand over mine, squeezing lightly and leaves it to sit.

* * *

I follow Leonids every move.  
No one else has my eye. No other dancer, male or female.   
This is my first experience in watching him move around a stage. He's heart-stirring.

* * *

In the end, I'm standing, applauding as they take the curtain calls.

* * *

The crowds take their time getting out of the theatre, and it's a relief when we reach the lobby, and I give an attendant my name.

"Right this way, gentlemen. Mister Popov is expecting you. Can I get more champagne for you?"  
          "No thank you," the attendant stopping at a closed door and leaves. 

* * *

I can't open the door.  
My hand, frozen on the handle. Fear? Unease?  
John slips his hand over mine," go on Sherlock," the knob turns, the door opens.  
There's Leonid, sitting on a chair, taking his makeup off, and he sees our reflection in the mirror. He shifts and rises off the seat.  
Still in costume, those tights, that shirt, the flashback.

* * *

"My Cinderella," hands outstretched, pulling me into his arms.

"I'll wait outside," I vaguely hear John exclaim, shutting the door.

* * *

"Leonid, Leonid, how, why?" my eyes watering.  
          "No, no krasivaya, (beautiful one). No cry."  
He wraps his arm around my waist and leads me to the lounge chair in this room. Not one as big or luxurious as the white one we made love on.

* * *

"Sit with me. I had chance to tour London again and saw story in papers," leaning over me while he's laid me down, his body warm near mine.  


" I have one more day here, and I go back. No, please no tears now," wiping my face with soft fingers.

Getting up he goes to the door and locks it.  
Sits back down to open those buttons in the way that only Leonid knows how to do.

" I make you forget, dream of another, come to you someday, love you like Leonid does."

My vest and shirt open for his fingers to touch, oh that touch, on my skin, his tongue barely skimming me.  
"What about someone knocking, needing you for something?"  
          "No talk," his fingers to my lips, "all know we are to be alone."  
          " Leonid, Leonid," all else blanks out in my head except him. His hands, his fingers, his--

* * *

When in the end our bodies are satiated, our breath evens out, his mouth touches my lips, a brief soft, kiss.

* * *

"We go find your friend and ask him in. Okay?"   


I'm flushed, ill at ease in knowing that John is outside while--.  


Leonid, opening the door, calls one of the staff to find John. It takes a few minutes.

Good! John was not outside the door the whole time.

* * *

Leonid hugs John as he enters, kissing him on the cheek.  
I can see that John does not know what to make of this.

" We must bring to light, talk about the happening. Sherlock cannot keep it locked up. Bad for him."  
While saying this he goes behind a screen, changing his clothes.

John's eyes look everywhere around except at me. I'm doing the same, flustered.

* * *

" I can come to house tomorrow in morning. Is that good?"  
          "I would say that's up to Sherlock," the first words John has said since entering.  


He sits on the lounger next to me, the cushion warm from our bodies, and promptly stands, looking down at the lounge chair and up to me.

If I'm right, the blush on my cheeks is as rosy as his.

"Tomorrow is fine. Eleven?"

* * *


	35. Confessions to a Ballet Dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonid is the sweetest character I have ever dreamed up.

Leonid is in the house, and there's a hesitancy about where each of us is to sit, an awkwardness while we stand looking around.

* * *

John takes the lead and sits in the farthest seat, letting Leonid sit close by me.

* * *

No one knows how to start this terrible conversation.

* * *

There's a gloom about everything, though the sun is shining brightly through the windows, all the curtains open to expose the sunlight.

* * *

I had no sleep last night, reviewing over and over the events of which I'm going to tell Leonid.  
He would want, and deserves the whole story and, while I'm embarrassed, I have to let him hear it all.

* * *

Leonid is the first to break the silence, clearing his throat,"Can we have brother Mycroft--?"  
          "No, no!" shaking my head so hard my hair falls over my face.  
Brushing it back, I once more say,"no."  
          "My milaya, (sweet one). Why do you not want brother, whose house you are in, to sit with us?"  
          " He shot James. He shot him, he killed--," my fist curls up, banging on the edge of the chair.

Looking across to see John shaking his head from side to side. No, he is wordlessly saying. He's angry; his lips curled tight.  
          "No, he didn't Sherlock. I wish you'd hear--."  
          "He did. I saw his gun pointed up, directly--."  
          "Please, please no argue. I want to hear, to cure Sherlock. Make him better in head," Leonid's arms waving about, trying to stop us.

* * *

"You look so skinny, lose weight. Must eat. John make you eat.  
John smiles at Leonid. Two conspirators

" Sherlock, my Cinderella, tell me how it happen. Then, can I make decision to have brother in on talk?"  
          "Yes, yes, you decide, " tired of having everyone try to defend Mycroft.

* * *

"Where do you want me to start?"  
          "To clear my head, how you meet and when?"

* * *

" At university, when I was sixteen. He made a bet with another boy," and I give a brief version of that period, but stutter when it's time to reveal how and why we parted.

* * *

" You and lover careless. But you young. And all young think they invincible."  
          "You feel it brother's fault you lose James?"  
          "Yes. Mycroft could have let him stay on in the school, not send him so far."  
          "Would not be good, Sherlock. You know that, deep in head.

I'm looking at Leonid, when he places his hand to his jaw, thinking.

"And in time you were apart James never contact you?"  
          "Nooo, but--," seeing where this was going.  
          "And you the same?"  
          "Yes, but--." He raises his hand to stop me from speaking, his point taken.

* * *

"At Earls house is where you meet for first time in years. Right?  
" Yes. That's when it began again."

* * *

Leonid pushes forward on his seat, "tell me about important part. Why you leave America without him."  
"Sorry, Leonid to have to tell you this. It all happened the night you and I," and I stumble, "that night together at the club. I went home, and he was waiting for me."  
"I was not cause, ma Cherie. It was in him, his head. Would have come out at some time."  


"Tell me, what he do? I want you to speak it. Hear it."  
I've begun to cry,"I can't. I can't. It hurts".  
Crawling to sit on the floor next to me," Dorogaya, (dear love)," hands on my knees, "You are with friends. No one say anything. Just listen. Speak of it, love," grabbing one hand of mine and giving it a squeeze he kisses my palm.

Across the way from me, John shifts in the seat, his stress written in his movements.

* * *

Taking a deep breath, as we all do in moments like this, I begin to speak about James, sometimes choking back tears, occasionally stopping to get control of myself.

* * *

" He beat me, Leonid. With my cane. Kicking me--," breaking down in long sobs.

* * *

There's another hand holding the same one as Leonid. It's John.

* * *

"Oh god, oh god, how-- could he? I loved-- I did-- whatever--he wanted," wheezing, hiccuping, sniffling

* * *

I'm rocking back and forth, both men holding onto me.

* * *

"He--kept going. He--, oh, he-- fucked me. All--all the way. I screamed--he didn't-- stop," sobbing hysterically at the flashback.

* * *

"He--raped me--raped me," screaming it.  
"He--his come--rape--he raped--, whispers.  
" And when he stop, Sherlock, what he do," his handkerchief on my face wiping me.

" He was--he became--distressed. He always-- does,--did that," pausing, " he said--loving things--helped me--watched over me."

"Stop now. Take a rest and tell me more."

* * *

Both of the men stand, helping me to find my legs, and Leonid walks me to the bathroom. Sitting me on the toilet he washes my face, hair and my neck. Soothing me

* * *

Quieted enough to continue, we sit in the parlor, and both men take up the same position, at my feet.

* * *

It's easier to talk now that the hard part is gone.

" James was not home one day and I left, just walked out. I thought to go to the bank and withdraw enough money to get me on a ship back home."

The bank, the trip to the McNamara's house and them lending me the money to come back to England, is next.

* * *

" And you come back to England, and stay where?"  
          "I stayed at the Earls house because I had given up my flat before leaving England. We were supposed to live together.

"Why are you in park and why he shot dead?"  
John is rubbing his thumb on the back of my hand, which I absentmindedly curl into a fist.  
Another moment I had been dreading. Having to speak this out loud.  
That night, that horrid night!

* * *

As I speak of it, I realize I'm not crying, not a single tear. Not feeling that intense sorrow that I had felt at first.

* * *

How long I had stopped speaking? How long had my voice faded away in the telling of the last encounter?

* * *

"You pick wrong," Leondis the first one to break the silence and my head turns away from him.  
"Listen to me Mon trésor(my treasure)," in French this time, those two words," you are most important to me. I have listened to you, heard your hurt. Your brother is hurting. For me, let him sit here now. Be a part of you."  
He rests his head on my knees, and without reflecting on it, I press my lips to his hair. I have no choice. It's Leonid, and I have to listen to him.

* * *

" John. Tell Mycroft he can come in. I'll hear his side," kissing the head of my Russian.

" Moya lyubov', (my love), "kissing my hands.

* * *


	36. Vindication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is Vindicated. Maybe!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> excuse my using a piece from The King and I about the bee flitting from flower to flower. It is a good description for Leonid and his loves

I think this is the first time I've ever seen Mycroft, my older brother, enter a room so undecided, so cautious. Timid I would say.

* * *

"Do not worry, Mister Holmes, senior. Leonid love Sherlock, yes physical. More important, Leonid, a good friend of Sherlock."

* * *

I knew Mycroft had found out all he could about Leonid. Including our most intimate times. And I'm glad that Leonid explained his place in my life.

* * *

John clears his throat to speak to Mycroft, "Why not tell Sherlock all you know of Moriarty and the happenings of that night."

Pulling up the only straight back chair he carefully sits, crosses his legs, arranging his trousers, his suit jacket, folds his hands together.

* * *

John stands to move away from me, but I grab hold of his hand, making him take a seat on the floor, next to Leonid.

* * *

"Are you willing to listen?" my brother says, with a catch in his throat.  
"Yes, I will, without condemnation. Or at least I will try."

Leonid is kissing my hands again, "Good, Sherlock. Other side is good to hear."

* * *

I lean back in my chair, Leonid and John next to me. Both men have their hands touching me, one on my knee and one with a thumb caressing the palm of my hand.

* * *

It's quite comforting. Like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a cold night.

* * *

Mycroft clears his throat," I knew of him--Moriarty, and his dirty dealings long before you departed to Amerca. I warned you, but you were so stubborn, as you tend to get--"  
I huff out. Leonid is squeezing my knee.           "Mycroft, don't do that. Give him the facts, not your judgment," John says, and Leonid agrees with a gesture.

* * *

Nodding his acceptance of being lightly slapped on the wrist, he smooths his vest.  
His voice is monotone," While you were both in New York, I had special agents tracking his movements. He began flattering the big underground moguls. The drug dealers. Mainly cocaine and morphine. He knew he was being watched by me. But he knew that as long as he had you, I would do nothing."

My head jerks up, growling. If it wasn't for both men holding me, I might have--.  
"Sorry, but that is the truth of the matter. You were being used. It's a fact you have to face, sooner or later."  
My teeth are clenched, my body so tense. He's making it out to be my fault.

* * *

          "His philandering was open. So many people saw what he was doing."  
Yes, I clearly remember the snickering of Henry McNamara at the party.  
James left me standing alone while he screwed someone. Someone other than me.

Here Mycroft stops, wetting his lips,"Can I have some whiskey, John?"  
With a shake of my head and Leonid's to indicate we wanted none, John reaches for one glass, pours the liquid to give to Mycroft.

* * *

Leonid kisses my fingers, locked in his.  
Once John sits, Leonid's hand moves mine to rest on top of John's.  
John is taken aback but recovers to place his other hand on top, reassuring me.

* * *

Mycroft puts the glass to lips, taking one, two sips.  
"He felt emboldened. He could abuse you, and you'd crawl back, every time, without complaining."  
          "I did, didn't I?" a bare whisper, nibbling on my bottom lip.  
John tightens his grip on my other hand, consoling me.

* * *

"I did not anticipate his descent into the madness--,"choking, not able to finish the sentence, Mycroft is showing emotion, and I'm astonished.  
"We cannot blame ourselves, Mister Holmes. No way to know--," Leonid says, dropping his head to my lap.  
          "It was the first time I had openly been with someone else, other than the Earl," I say, breaking my silence.  
          " It must have been a tremendous blow to his ego, and it probably frightened him into thinking that you could leave," John ventured.

* * *

Taking a large gulp of his drink, emptying the glass, shaking himself, sitting up in that ramrod way he does, " You came back to London, and I concluded, mistakenly, that all had come to an end."

Mycroft leans forward towards me,"It was easy enough to get the necessary paperwork done. The paperwork to send him back to London. Most of it was sitting on my desk, written, signed and waiting," shifting his legs.  
I knew he was distressed because lacing his fingers together, which he was now doing, was a sure sign.

* * *

"The New York police cooperated fully, getting him on a ship, turning him over to my deputies," pausing. Lips pursed.  
"He escaped into the crowd while disembarking. We did have officers by his side, but, well, I won't elaborate on it further." 

* * *

Holding his hand out, John refills his glass. He takes a drink, then coughs, and carries on.

* * *

" That very night my men had found his location. A drug den very close to my house, as it turns out," a soft chuckle coming from him.  
" A trap was set up, to raid the doss house early in the morning."  
          " We didn't know that he had contacted you for an assignation at the park. One of my servants saw the note you had dropped on the floor."

* * *

A deep breath, " An agent, departed for the police station to send them to the park. I and my agents ran directly there. We hoped we'd seize him before you appeared. But you were there right on time."

I hummed out, John lightly pressing my hand, and my Russian patting my knee.  
"When those lights shone, and you were-- in his arms, I couldn't give the order to shoot. I had my hand up to warn them, shaking, afraid an over-enthusiastic deputy would. You shifted, my hand came down as Moriarty ran, and that's when the barrage began," leaning forward now, an intense expression on his face

"But, listen to me carefully my brother. I froze. I could not shoot. My gun was pointed directly at him. I had his head in my line of sight. But no bullet was fired. Not from my hand."  
There were tears, real tears streaming down my brothers face!

" I knew how you felt about him. In that instant, I knew it was all my fault. I could not be the one to kill your love."

* * *

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry, Mycroft. I thought--I saw your gun aimed--," and my brother is down on his knees, crawling to me. Leonid moves away, and Mycroft is there, cradling me, my tears flowing onto his shoulder.  


"It's been a trying time for you."

* * *

His handkerchief in his hand to wipe dry my tears, I catch my breath.

* * *

Mycroft shifts his position and sits back in his chair. Wiping his face off.

* * *

Leonid slides back to me, sitting on the floor.  
" You listen Sherlock. A man who loves you is kind, not cruel. Gives you his best."  
          " Leonid, I am beginning to see--"  
          "No, Sherlock, my Cinderella. You do not see. It is not me," my head jerks back, surprised.  
          "I love you. But, my love is like a bee. Flitting from flower to flower."  
          "Leonid, then why--?"  
          " Everyone of my loves are pretty flowers. Treat gently, not to bruise, to touch lightly," his fingers brushing my cheek, sliding to my neck. I shiver with that touch.  
          "You are favorite. Tug my heart. But not meant to be," Leonid now has tears in his eyes.  
          "You have real love. Which you do not know of. I think he do not know at first, but now--" I'm puzzled, Leonid's hand in mine, my thumb playing over his fingers.  
          "This man," pointing to John, "gives you love, real love."  
Staring into his blue eyes, there's compassion, understanding and--love.  
I thought it was a craving to bed me. Why did I think that way?  
Is it because I thought that's all he wanted, no, all that men wanted from me.  
Has his love been there all this time?

* * *

No one talks, all eyes are on John and myself.

Leonid says,"I say my farewell. I must go. A train to get on," his voice softly spoken, up on his feet, arms held out to me.  
"I have confession to make. I go back to Russia and marry a rich woman. I must. Gay man cannot dance, goes to prison. Marriage to woman my only safe choice."  
"When do you leave?" standing up, wobbly with all the emotions I've felt over the past hours.

* * *

" Tonight, at ten, I board train. I do not know if I return to England. But I go knowing my Cinderella is with good people," his face turns to John.  
          "John, he needs man like you. Treat him gentle. And I see--, his head turns between John and myself.

* * *

Leonid is stepping into his carriage when I run out to him. I can't leave him just yet. He's taught me so much. Shown me about love.

" Can I see you off at the train station?" my voice thick with emotion.  
Laughing, "You are like little child, you know? Yes, I pick you up later," ruffling my curls with his hands.

* * *

In the house John and Mycroft are waiting expectantly for me.

" I'm going with Leonid to the station. Don't want to converse right now. I'd like some time alone," and climb the steps to stay in the bedroom. Sorting my thoughts out.

* * *


	37. A Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mycroft talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short chapter. Johns Point of View

Watching Sherlock, now very subdued, trudge up the stairs, both Mycroft and I decide we have to discuss things further for Sherlock's venture to the train station.

* * *

I've asked for some cheese and bread for a light meal, the food is on the table between both of us.

* * *

" So Leonid. What a surprise. What a shame that he met the other one before the Russian," I say to Mycroft.  
A sip of tea and I add, " That's why the book, Cinderella. I knew there was an emotional bond about it. That's why he cherishes it so much."  
          "What book, John?" Mycroft asks quietly. 

He's looking fatigued.  
          " I best let Sherlock tell you. That's if he wants to."  
          "You might be right, my good doctor. Sherlock is not one who learns emotional lessons easy. It's been a hard road for him."

* * *

"I have a, call it a premonition, Mycroft, that something could happen at the train station." Am I right in that?"  
          " You are right in that assumption. I was thinking along those same lines myself," biting into a slice of sourdough bread, smeared with his favorite jam, raspberry.

" Moriarty is dead. His organization goes on. His second in command is just as ruthless. He does not have the emotional ties to Sherlock as Moriarty did".  
          " That was some emotional tie! 

Shaking his head, Mycroft says," We have to admit that Moriarty did have some feelings for my brother. I do sometimes wonder--, no best not to think about that," another slice of bread with jam.  


"Do you think someone might try to kill Sherlock?"  
          "Yes. If James had not met Sherlock at the park, he would have taken the train straight away, and we might have missed him.  
          "So there's a real threat to Sherlock?"  
          "I'll have my men, and myself, at the train station."

* * *

"Do you think it possible that Leonid is part of --?" skeptical but needing to ask.  
          "No, no. We know he's innocent."  
          "Sherlock has not left this house since the-- incident. I daren't try to stop him from going."  
          "I'll go with you. And I won't take no for an answer."

* * *


	38. The Carriage Ride and Train Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonid and Sherlock.

Entering the carriage, Leonid presses me close to him. He wraps an arm around me, and my head goes to rest on his shoulder.

* * *

I lift myself up, wanting to see his face as much as possible now that I know our time is short.

"We had ballet of our own, did we not?" his fingers running through my hair, kissing my neck.  
          " I still have your book. It survived."  
          "Sherlock, moya lyubov' (my love), milyy rebenok (sweet child) Cinderella is not mine. It is for you. A gift. You remember what sweet love is. From me.  
          "What did I give to you? Nothing?" my head down, not caring to see how he reacts to that.

"No, no, no moya Lyubov' (my love)," his fingers on my chin lifting my head to look him in the eye.

* * *

Even with very little light, with only the street lamps, I see those dark eyes. The eyes of my love. Dark, dark but caring eyes.

* * *

" You are love of mine. Not all flowers do I call love. You take my heart. If times were different, I would live with you. As lovers. But not to be. I have to hide under woman's skirt."  
          " Will you ever take others like us?"  
          "No. This life over. I cannot love man as I want. And even you, nevinnyy( innocent one) will have to be careful. Keep in under sheets.  
Even though Leonid is a few years older than me, he has the wisdom of a wise sage, older than his years. 

* * *

When I tell him this, he laughs," In Russia, we grow old too soon. Life is not easy. For me, it is good. I travel, see other countries, customs.  
          "Would you ever think of defecting?" his fingers trailing down my neck, my breath halting.  
Kissing my chest," No, family would be sent to camps. Cannot do," lips on my neck.  
          " I wish you--"  
          "No, krasotka (pretty one), our time is over. No more wishing. We both have someone waiting. You cannot change, how you say, what is meant to be."

* * *

Almost to our destination, he says, " Doctor Watson. He is your fate, your kismet.  
          " Why do you keep bringing up John Watson?" Do you think he is in love with me?"  
          " Sherlock. Like Cinderella, you run from what is in front of you. Can you still not see prince in him? He pretend not to see you, but he see you with heart. He is afraid to say, to tell you. Do not turn him away. He will be your Leonid, you will discover."

* * *

On the platform we maintain a slight distance from one another. 

The troupe all babbling in Russian. Bags, suitcases, the smell of perfume, hugs, laughter.

His people, his ensemble, his countrymen.

* * *

"Why can't I touch you?" I whisper to him while inside the bustling station."  
          My friends, all dancers, know I like men. I do not push it in faces. Not nice."  
Stepping away from the crowd, he says, "Follow me," outside, around to the opposite side of the building.

No people are to be seen. It's quiet. No one is near us.

* * *

The darkness hides us, only one streetlight nearby, and a half moon to give off some illumination.

* * *

Leaning his back against the old station, we are close enough for hands to clasp.  
I embrace him, kissing his neck, his cheek. My hands roam his body, hungry for him.

* * *

"Sherlock, no, no. Be brave moy angel (my angel)."  
          "I want more of you. Just one more--", my hands combing through his blonde hair.  
Lightly pushing me away from him I step to one side. I have no choice. He's leaving. And then--.

* * *


	39. Gun Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now who gets shot? No one is killed

In that one second, the millisecond before I'm leaning back against him, I hear a crack, a pop. 

In that millisecond, I know it's the sound of a gun.

"Nooo, noo," pressing close to Leonid.  
It's happening again! Leonid's going to die!

In the next seconds, I clutch my shoulder, on my knees, my vision becoming hazy, hearing my name called as if in a dense fog.

Indistinct voices, indistinct bodies enclose me, "Leonid," and all is dark.

* * *

Wakening, there are voices around me. All are talking at once. A babble. 

I can distinguish the ones closest to me. John, Leonid, and Mycroft.

I'm on the ground being lifted, carried and placed on another hard surface.

Cold. I'm cold and shivering. Someone covers me with warmth, a blanket.

The pain, the pain. Searing!

The pain rips through my shoulder, my senses. 

I hear yelling, moaning and it's me.

Calling out, "help me, I hurt, help me."  
My head twisting back and forth, my legs swinging up and down, all of me in motion.

* * *

Someone is talking to me, shushing noises.  
          "Yes, yes it will be okay. We'll fix it. Shhhh!"  
          " Can you hear me? Don't move my sladkiy, (sweet one)," Leonid's voice close to my ear.  
My eyes open, his face close to mine, tears spilling down," I must leave you. John is here. I love you, Sherlock Holmes."  
          "You're alive!"  
          "Yes, alive and well. Goodbye!<,/br> A kiss on my lips and tears on his face, and he's out of my sight.

"Leonid," a whisper, a call, my hand groping for his, finding nothing.  
"It's John," his face coming into focus above me.

" You've been shot in the shoulder. I've given you something for the pain. It will knock you out. We're going to transport you home," the last words fading away into darkness.

* * *


	40. Wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is wounded.

The ceiling is whirling round and round. No, it's not the ceiling, it's inside my head. I keep my eyes closed.

* * *

What's wrong with me?

* * *

A dull pain, an awareness of my arm, my left arm not being able to move. Bandaged?

* * *

Must get up. Must find out what's happened to me.

* * *

"Lie back down. Don't move around," the soothing voice of John Watson, his hand on my chest, keeping me in a lying position.  
"What--?" keeping my eyes closed helps the unsteadiness, the shakiness.  
"Don't sit up quickly. Take a sip of water," opening my eyes to locate his hand with a cup and a straw.  
I have to keep my eyes shut, still reeling.  
John holds me from behind to raise my head to sip.

* * *

"Have to know, tell me--" lying on the bed, beginning to feel better.  
And realization comes!

"Leonid! Where's Leonid? Is he--, panic setting in.  
"He's all right. Had to get on the train. He did not get shot. It was you."  
" Are you sure? He's not--dead?" the words choking, crushing me.  
" I assure you he's on the train on his way to Moscow."  
"He left you a note."  
I grab it out of his hand and almost rip it in my eagerness to see the message.

It's on the train stations notepad, the logo stamped on the top.

* * *

_"You have angel on your side. Not killed. I kiss you and remember you my Cinderella. Always!_

* * *

Tears well up. I fold the paper carefully and give it to John.  
"Put it in the Cinderella book please," and close my eyes. Don't want to see anyone right now.

* * *

I sleep.

* * *

John Watson is by my bedside when I wake, "good morning. I hope my patient is doing better?"  
"Stop being so animated! I'm hurting and hungry."  
Laughing, "I think we can fix both items on your list. How about a walk to the bathroom and then we'll take care of the rest."

* * *

Once I'm feeling better, having downed a painkiller and breakfast I ask John," what did happen?"  
John Watson, in his quiet, but firm way,"Let Mycroft tell you. He'll be home in a while. Meantime let me fix the pillows for you," fluffing them up, easing my head against them.

* * *

Becoming more cognizant, more aware, I know I'm in John's bedroom in Mycrofts' house. Why am I in John's room?

* * *

My left shoulder is bandaged, and the source of all my discomfort is from there.

"My shoulder?" my right hand moving over to touch the area cautiously. That's the first thing to come to my attention.

The next, I have only my drawers on.  
Seems to be a habit with me, that someone else removes my clothes while I'm unconscious.

* * *

Sighing, but also with a slight chuckle, figuring out my distress,"Yes, I removed your clothes. Again. They were blood-spattered, to begin with, and I'm afraid I cut up your shirt to use for a tourniquet to stop the bleeding."  
Bleeding? All I remember--. Yes, I recall being alone with Leonid, at the train station. I think back and can hear the explosive sound of a gun and voices. And that's all.

* * *

"You were shot. Wait, I hear steps. Must be-." 

In the room walks Mycroft, regarding me with unease. What have I done wrong this time?

* * *

"Told you he'd be fine. The wound is clean; the bullet went right through. He'll be using his arm in no time," the doctor steps aside to give my brother a chance to peer at me. 

The chair from the desk is scraped along the carpet, close to the bedside; he sits, in his usual manner.

* * *

"Before you open your mouth--,"  
          "What is it going to take for you two to stop goading each other?" John's angry tone clear to both of us brothers.

* * *

" My apologies! Let me start again. Moriarty had a wider range than even I anticipated. Yes, yes Sherlock. Moriarty's dead."

* * *

Picking up my sheet with two fingers, examining the extent of my dressing, his face screws up in distaste.  
I bat his hand away and hear the sigh from John.

* * *

Lips pursed, hands folded in his lap, we eye each other.  
I give in and stare up at the ceiling.

* * *

          "His next in line has taken charge. With no protest from the lower ranks, mind you. His name is Sebastian Moran.  
          " I've heard about him. James was friends with him even while in university. But he had never mentioned him recently.  
          "Did Moriarty discuss anyone else in his organization?"  
Thinking about it, " I do recall two people. One who I never knew his name, but he was a big-shot newspaperman, and the other a woman. Adler, I seem to recall her last name," and chuckling over the thought," he told me he spent two nights screwing her to get information vital to his cause."  
Laughing," Now that I think more about it I am surprised because James only thought of women in a negative sense. Never thought he'd hire one."

* * *

"He didn't do too well with men either."  
          "Mycroft!" John shoots out, "You keep this up Mycroft and your house or not; I'll throw you out! You hear me?"  
John sounds like a mother bear defending her cub. 

Mycroft shifts uncomfortably in his seat, uncrosses his legs, looks up at the ceiling," Sorry brother."

* * *

          "To continue, this woman, Irene Adler was an important member of his organization. She used men as he did, brutally and viciously."  
          "Go ahead, I know you've got the words in your little mind. He used me brutally and viciously."  
          "I wasn't--,

* * *

After a long silence in which I see Mycroft shuffle in his seat, "I'm afraid Sherlock, you have become a target. Sebastian Moran is out for revenge."  
I see hesitation, and he leans forward," I have to impart a rather important piece of information to you. And I would rather you hear it from me.  
          "Do you think it wise to upset him further, Mycroft?"  
          "John, he has to know the truth sometime."  
Taking a breath, leaning back, he starts to say something, stops, and clasps his hands together.  
We eye each other.  
I'm waiting for the bomb to drop.

* * *

" Sebastian Moran was Moriarty's lover for many years--," I begin to sit up, but John is quick to push me down.

          "No, no, you're wrong."  
"Take it easy Sherlock."

Without viewing Mycroft or John, I try to keep a steady heartbeat.  
"Go on. Tell it all to me."  
          " Yes, Moran and--him-- were lovers in the university years. He was--the one who prompted Moriarty to kiss you."  
          "Stop, stop. I heard the man's name. It was Paul, not Sebastian."  
          "Mycroft, leave it for now," John whispers to my brother.

"No. Tell me all, all. Leave out nothing. I want to hear how I was being played the fool."  
Tears roll along my cheeks, and John wipes them with a flannel.

* * *

" I want you to understand that I only found out about all of this when you left for the States. By then you were so--embroiled with him--," he stops and inhales, exhales.

"How did you find this out?" so tired of this whole thing. Feeling more and more the child that Leonid called me.

* * *

"There was a third party involved in that little wager. It was Sebastian. Sebastian was jealous of James' growing interest in you. He gave a large sum of money to Paul to egg on James."  
          "At the lake, Paul and James knew I was there?"  
          "They had seen you and followed you."  
          " I don't understand? Why would Sebastian do this? Knowing that James liked me?"  
          "Sebastian anticipated your anger and thought that would end James feelings for you.  
          "Aha, Mycroft! He never thought I would come back and kiss him. It backfired on him, didn't it?"  
          "When I sent Moriarty away, he and Sebastian continued their relationship."  
          " All the way to now. Right?" bitterness, disgust.  
          "Yes, Sherlock.",/br>           "How did you find out all of this?"  
          " Paul was the one to tell me. By accident. At the same party, where you met James. Paul was with him.  
He pauses, getting up to get a drink of water and sitting down again.

* * *

          "Paul was inebriated that night, sat next to me and joked about the wager, thinking, I suppose, that I had this information."

* * *

Absorbing all of this, Mycroft continues, " Moriarty knew you would be at the party and surprised you. He thought you, he and Moran--,"  
          " You mean, he was going to set me up for a threesome?"  
          "Yes. That fell through when you wouldn't participate in the group."  
          "Well, at least that fell through," smirking.  
          " John, you see what a fool I've been?"  
          " You were not a fool. You had a dream, a person you believed in, without question. And you were innocent and young."

I snort at those remarks," Innocent and young. And a fool!"

* * *

" Whatever the case, Moran stayed in England while you and Moriarty left. He ran the operation, more successfully than--him, I might add. That's all I have left to tell you," and he hangs his head.

* * *

Somethings not right. Doesn't sit well with me.

"You're hiding something Mycroft. Tell me the whole thing. Finish it."  
Mycroft lifts his head, looks me straight in the eye," The tickets for the train that night was for him and Sebastian. But Sebastian wouldn't leave. They argued and--."  
The truth! The truth! And how it hurt!

* * *

"Go away, both of you. Leave me alone."

They leave the room, and I sob my last for that bastard! That liar!

But more so for me.

* * *

In these moments, hearing the whole story I have grown up. Have seen what Leonid was trying to say. What John is saying, silently.

* * *


	41. How it Happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events at the train station

It isn't until that night, sitting in the parlor that I ask to hear the rest of the events from the train station.

* * *

"Let me get Mycroft, and I'll also find some food for you to eat. And don't go objecting!" walking out of the room, a big smile on his face.

* * *

John enters with a tray consisting of sausage, mash potatoes, green beans and tea, Mycroft right behind him.

* * *

Mycroft sits quietly, patiently while I begin my meal.

* * *

I growl, not able to use my extremities to my fullest, and John, the ever-present John helps me.  
He cuts the sausage into small bite-size pieces, all the while commenting on the latest in the rugby goings-on.  
Which he knows I have no interest in.

* * *

Almost done with the food, I turn to Mycroft, who squints at me, his mouth pursed.  
          "I sense a difference in you, brother mine."  
          "Don't go asking me questions, my brother. I won't tell you anything. I have to have space to rethink myself."

Settling in his chair his legs crossed over, he breaths in deep.

* * *

"Before you begin anything I have a question for you. You said the tickets were for him and Moran? How did I come to fit into the picture?"  
          "I'm not sure.  
          "Maybe I can help here, Sherlock," John pipes up," Moriarty liked you a lot. Don't snort, Sherlock. He did. Anyhow, I think he felt if he could convince you of his love, his devotion he could use you, both for money and the prestige the Holmes name brings."  
          " And I would have gone with him that night," head down, still ashamed of it all.

* * *

"Ahem, to get back to it. John and I surmised that Moran was going to try to kill you. The train depot, with all the people mingling about, would be the perfect place. He could easily get lost in the crowd."  
          "He had one of his henchmen follow Leonid's carriage, and we were right behind," John continues.  
          "Why didn't you take him down then?"  
          " I wanted Moran, not some two-bit chap. I knew if he was going to be anyplace it was at the station. He wanted revenge and is the type of man to do it himself."  
          "That means he knew I was here, knew I got into the carriage and knew where I was going," outraged at my life was on the line and didn't know it.  
          "Unbeknownst to me, he had a runner reach Moran. Moran sensed a trap and did not show. He sent a small-time hitman."  
          And left me wide open. Clever, Mycroft!"  
          "Sherlock!" both men cry out at the same time.  
          "Jesus, you two will be the death of me,"John says, combing his hands through his hair.           "You should be used to it by now, my dear John.  
          "Shut up Mycroft. You're the oldest and should have more sense. Ah, never mind!" Go on with it," sitting.

* * *

          "My men did follow you to the train station. Combed the area. But couldn't find any signs of anything out of the ordinary."  
          "Didn't you have security guards around the perimeter," my anger dimming.  
          "The hitman had stolen a coat from one of the Russians and blended in with them. It came on so fast, and I will be honest, I was unprepared."  
          " That is irrelevant now. It happened, and Mycroft has us and this house under constant surveillance," John pipes up.

          "The bullet was meant to kill you. You moved in that split second, and the assassin could not change his aim quick enough." 

He rises off the chair, "We do have him in custody. But not Moran."  
          " I want you to ponder on the seriousness of this. When you've had time to recover, both mentally and physically, we'll discuss it further," nodding to John he leaves us.

* * *


	42. Sherlock and John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes well above and beyond to find his happiness.

In the days to follow my recovery is slow, but with the help of John Watson, it is bearable.

* * *

I can't shower but do a wash with a flannel, soap, and water in the bathroom sink.

* * *

Mycroft's barber has come in and argued vociferously with me.  
He wound up only trimming my locks, not cutting them.  
Which had Mycroft steaming, and me joyous!

* * *

We're eating breakfast in the dining room when John abruptly stands, heads to the window," We should have rain soon."  
Humpfing, "John it always rains 'soon' in London. What is it that's bothering you?"  
          " I think John is trying to hint at our next discussion. Am I right?" Mycroft says, putting his napkin on the table.

"Sherlock, we know you are the main one on Moran's hit list. What are we going to do about it?"

" I've been in talks with the NSY police here in London and my old friend the detective. The one I worked with before Moriarty. And Mycroft, I imagine you have me closely watched."  
          "Yes. There's more to this. Moran's men are a force to be reckoned. And since you are now working with the police, I think--"  
          "Let me guess. You want me to assist in bringing his organization to heel."  
          " I want you to stamp them out. I know it will be difficult. Even dangerous."  
Looking at John, still staring out the window, hands behind his back, trying to be casual but not managing well.

* * *

"And how, pray tell me, are you involved with this, John?"  
          "Danger sounds good. Bringing Moriarty's forces to heel sounds good. Having a flatmate sound ideal!" twisting around to face us.

* * *

It takes a moment to reach my brain, "Wait! Flatmate?"  
          " I've been avoiding telling you my news with all going on in your own life," turning to face me.   
          "I am moving out. I've found a flat on Baker Street in the heart of the city."

Clearing his throat I know Mycroft is about to say something he thinks is brilliant. And I might not like.

"My suggestion would be to move in with John."  
Looking down at my hands, folding and unfolding my napkin, "I would like that. I think, "keeping my voice neutral, "we'd be good partners."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are at the end. I hope you liked it. Please leave your love in the form of a kudo for me.

**Author's Note:**

> You may notice parallels between John and Moriarty in the way they care for Sherlock.


End file.
